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By LUCY RA/MDALL COMFORT 














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New York 


•^treet-6^<5mith. Publishers* 

zs~3l ROSE STREET. 



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THE COUNTY FAIR. 

By NEIL BURGESS. 

Written from the celebrated play now 
running its second continuous season in 
New York, and booked to run a third s«a- 
Bon in the same theater. 

The scenes are among the New Hamp- 
shire hills, and picture the bright side of 
country life. The story is full of amusing 
events and happy incidents, something 
after the style of our “Old Homestead,” 
which is having such an enormous sale. 

THE COUNTY FAIR” will be one 
of the great hits of the season, and should 
you fail to secure a copy you will miss a 
literary treat. It is a spirited romance of 
town and country, and a faithful repro- 
duction of the drama, with the same unique 
characters, the same graphic scenes, but 
with the narrative more artistically rounded, and completed than was 
possible in the brief limits of a dramatic representation. This touch- 
ing story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the 
introduction of an impure thought or suggestion. Read the following 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS: 

Mr. Neil Burgraqs has rewritten his play, “The County Fair,” in story form. It 
rounds out a narrative which is comparatively but sketched in the play. It only needs 
the first sentence to set going- the memory and imagination of those who have seen the 
latter and whet the appetite for the rest of this lively conception of a live dramatist.— 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

As “The County Fair” threatens to remain in New York for a long time the general 

{ mblic out of town may be glad to learn that the playwright has put the piece into print 
n the form of a story. A tale based upon a play may sometime.s lack certain literary 

? [ualities, but it never is the sort of thing over which any one can fall asleep. For- 
unately, “The County Fair” on the stage and in print is by the same author, so there 
can be no reason for fearing that the book misses any of the points of the drama which 
has been so successful — A: Y. Herald. 

The idea of turning successful plays into novels seems to be getting popular. The 
latest book of this description is a story reproducing the action and incidents of Neil 
Burgess’ play, “The County Fair.” The tale, which is a romance based on scenes of 
home life and domestic joys and sorrows, follows closely the lines of the drama in 
story and v\oi.— Chicago Dauy News. 

IVIr, Burgess’ amusing play, “The County Fair.” has been received with such favor 
that he has worked it over and expanded it into a novel of more than 200 pages. It will 
be enjtwed even by those who have never heard the play and still more by those who 
have .— l imes-Star. 

This touching story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting- in every part, without the introduction of 
an impure thought or suggestion.— .<4 fban#/ Press. 

Street & Smith have issued “The County Fair.” This is a faithful reproduction of 
the drama of that name and is an aftecting and vivid story of domestic life, joy and 
son'ow, and rural scenes.— iSan Francisco Call. 

This romance is written from the play of this name and is full of touching incidents. 
—Ecansville Joxirnal. 

It is founded on the ixipularplay of the same name, in which Neil Burgess, who is 
also the author of the story, has achieved the dramatic successor the season.— Fatt 
River Herald. 

Tlxo Oc>Ti.*i.t;3r is No. 33 of ‘TTie Select Series,” for 

sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, 26 cents, to any 
address, postpaiv'', by STREET Jk SMITH, Publishers, 26-Sl Bose st*, Now Y(Mrk. 



THE SELECT SERIES 

A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION, 

Devoted to GS-ood R-eading in A.nierican Fiction* 

Subscription Price, $6.oo Per Year. No. 75.— JANUARY 7, 1891. 

Copyrighted 1890, hy Street <& Smith. 

Entered at the Post-Office, New York, as Second-Class Matter. 


The Widowed Bride ; 

OR, 

THE MYSTERY OF GLENHAMPTON. 


BY 

LUCY RANDALL COMFORT, 

AUTHOR OF 

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THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


OHAPTEE L 

ALICE AND KEISTA. 

The declining sun of a cloudless September day was irradi- 
ating, with its level beams, a peaceful Kentish landscape, 
traversed in a north-easterly direction by the shining tides 
of the river Medway, while the purple crests of a range of 
not inconsiderable hills, outlined against the horizon, were 
wrapped in a vail of tender haze, and the vivid green of the 
road-side hedges suggested spring, rather than early autumn, 
to the casual observer. 

Under the plumy shadows of the dense-growing hedges, 
upon the shoi t, velvety grass of the road-side, an old man 
sat, his shoes and garments powdered over with dust, while 
two little girls, apparently eight or nine years of age, played 
and frisked round him — brown-faced, hardy-looking little 
elves, with bare feet, ragged calico frocks, and tangled hair 
insufficiently protected from the sunshine by tattered straw 
hats tied under the chin. At the first glance they seemed 
to bear a singular resemblance to one another — at the second 
an observant eye could detect a wide difference. The taller, 
and apparently the elder by a year or so, ^vas dark, with 
large, hazel eyes, fringed by long lashes, hair growing low 
upon her forehead, and teeth that shone like pearls between 
her rosy, parted lips; while the smaller and slighter of the 
two was fair, where the shadow of her frayed hat had, in 
some measure, kept the sunshine from her brow, with brown 


6 


THE WIDOWED DEIDE. 


hair flecked with shifting lights of gold^ and eyes of violet 
gray, full of limpid depths that seemed to sparkle far down 
below the irids. 

‘^Grandpapa! grandpapa this fair-haired sprite called 
out, pulling vehemently at the skirts of the old rnan^s coat, 
^^me and Kena climbed up on the stile, and we saw, oh, suc^ 
a many people way off, picking hops, and there were littl^ 
girls like us — can^t we go, too? Grandpapa, are you asleep ?'^ 

The old man slowly opened his eyes. 

child, no; I was not asleep. Let us go on, Alice — 
we cannot be far off, now!"' 

^^But, look, grandpapa!"" coaxed the child, as he rose with 
difficulty from his sitting posture, and she stood on tiptoe 
to peep over the rustic stile, where the other child was 
already balancing herself like a young -acrobat. 

It was indeed a pretty, rural picture, the hop-pickers 
seeming to swarm over the fields below, while the river, 
winding through the meads like a ribbon of silver, lay be- 
yond, and almost completely embowered in woods, the tur- 
rets of a stately pile of architecture rose up between, and a 
sylvan village nestled in the hollow, scarcely more than a 
mile or two distant. 

^‘Grandpapa!"" exclaimed little Rena, shading her eyes 
from the sun with one brown hand, ^fis that the place we"re 
goin" to?"" 

‘Are you tired, my child?"" asked the man, mournfully, 
as he laid one hand on her shoulder. 

/^Yes — no!"" said Rena, doubtfully. ^‘^But we"ve walked a 
long way, and Alice's feet are blistered. Grandpapa, is this 
the place you used to live when you were a little boy?"" 

^ ^Hereabouts!"" he replied, absently. 

^^But show me the house, grandpapa!"" 

^‘When we come to it, child, when we come to it,"" he an- 
swered, with a sigh. ^‘^Come, Alice — come Rena; we"ve a 
weary way to walk yet."" 

Little Rena skipped down from the stile with a child's 
elasticity, and caught hold of the old man's hand. 

‘^Come on, then," she cried. ‘Alice, you may have my 
shoe, if you like — the one that the sole isn’t gone. It is 
pretty good if you step on your toes." 

“My foot don’t hurt me so much now," said Alice, “since 
I tied the green leaves round it, and grandpapa says we’re 
most there. Oh, Rena, see that big butterfiy! — isn't it 


THE WIDOWED DBIDE] 


7 


splendid? Grandpapa, we never saw any such butterflies 
when we lived up among the mountains/^ 

Jason Garfield did not answer. In truth and in fact he 
heard not a word of the children^’s merry babble as he 
plodded on over the level roads that had been familiar to his 
feet years and years ago. Just then he was existing not 
so much in the present as in the past. 

wonder what she will say to me?^^ he thought. ^^Shefll 
be angered sore, I’m afeared — and she wasn’t a woman any 
one would like to face in her angry moods — but it isn’t na • 
ture to expect a man to keep away from his own native 
place forever. I could have lived in them furrin’ parts, but 
when it came to die there — and I mistrust me the end isn’t 
far off now, for I’ve lived my three-score years and ten, and 
the old machinery’s pretty well-nigh rusted out. I wouldn’t 
betray lier^ but I can’t die mih that secret on my soul. No, 
no; I’ll give it back to her — I’ll give it back to her, and-- — ” 

^^Give what back, grandpapa?” asked a small, wondering 
voice, and little Alice’s blue-gray eyes gazed up into his 
own. ^^Grandpapa, what are you talking about?” 

^AVas I talking?” said the old man, with a guilty flush on 
his cheek. ^^Some nonsense — some old song I used to hum, 
like enough, when I was a boy. Don’t you pay no attention 
to what the old man says, Allie — run on with your sister.” 

‘G don’t want to run,” said the child, ^^my foot is sore. 
Did my father and mother live hereabouts, too, grand- 
papa?” 

‘'Yes, child, yes! where should they live? and what 
makes you ask such silly questions?” 

“I don’t know,” said Alice, mechanically, catching at 
the poppies that nodded their scarlet heads from the hedge 
rows as they passed. “I suppose I w^as thinking about my 
mother. It would be nice to^ have a mother, wouldn’t it, 
grandpapa — a real mother all to myself, like other little 
girls.^” 

But before Jason Garfield could frame an answer, Eena, 
standing on the rise of a hill a few rods beyond, beckoned 
with her small hands, and called to her sister with noisy de- 
light. 

‘^Oh, come Allie, come! I see such a queer old church, 
with the steeple all covered with ivy, and a great, deep 
porch, where we can all sit down and rest on the stone 
steps. May we rest there, grandpapa?” 


8 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


He nodded assent, and the little girls flew onward, while 
his weary footsteps followed at a slower and more measured 
pace. 

'‘I mind it well/^ he thought to himself. ^"IVe never 
forgotten St. Hilda^s, all the time Fve been away — no, nor 
ever shall. IFs a sight good for sore eyes, to look upon that 
mossy old tower again; ay, that it is.^' 

At the crest of the hills one seemed to come almost di- 
rectly upon the church, which nestled away among stately 
yew trees and hedges of box, its shadows, drawn by the pen- 
cil of the sunset, lying over the peaceful rows of graves 
beyond, and the sound of a wayside fountain, walled by 
rude stones, and surmounted by the semblance of a roughly 
hewn cross, making a soft, rippling monotone through the 
summer evening silence. 

Kena inclined forward and drank eagerly from the brim- 
ming surface. 

‘^It"s so good and socoldT^ she cried, smacking her cherry 
lips merrily. ^^Come and drink, Allie; come, grandpapaT"^ 

^^St. Hilda^s CupP said the old man, with a senile laugh. 
‘‘Yes, yes, I remember it well. I used to drink here when 
I was a little mite of a thing, not so big as you are, lassies. 
Always cold, in the sultriest summer day! I wonder now, 
how many years 

He stopped and shook his head, the bright drops yet 
sparkling on his grizzled beard, where he had quaffed the 
cool water. 

“My memory’s goiir from me, somehow,” he murmured; 
“sense, and memory, and all else. It’s time I came back 
to her; she was always stronger than me.” 

“Grandpapa,” said Rena, her small form appearing sud- 
denly from the deep shadow of the Gothic-built stone porch, 
“the church door is open, can we go in?” 

He followed her slowly into the porch. 

“Open, is it? They used to- have evening service in har- 
vest, in my time, and maybe they keep to the same old ways 
yet. Yes, go in, my lasses, but step soft, and don’t talk 
and laugh out loud, like ye was in tho sunshine and the 
open air.” 

“]N’o, grandpapa, we won’t,”* said Alice, as, holding 
tightly to her sister’s hand, she crept into the church, close 
on her grandfather’s heels. 

It was a spacious, antiquely fashioned building, with a 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


9 


deep semicircular chancel, where the blues, and ambers, 
and crimsons of the stained-glass windows played softly 
over the stone floor and carved altar-rails, while an irregu- 
larly built transept extended to the south, and two monu- 
mental figures cut in stone, to represent sleeping warriors, 
guarded either side. 

^ ^Grandpapa, whispered Alice, who was looking on with 
an awe-stricken face, “are they nien?’^ 

“What nonsense said the less impressible Rena; “don^t 
you see they are only stone? And oh, what a curious place, 
all hung round with crimson silk curtains, and a little stone 
fire-place, like a real house, and an eagle* and a dagger cut 
into the wall over it.^^ 

‘‘Come away, child, come away; that^s my lord^s pew,^^ 
said Jason Garfield, glancing apprehensively over his shoul- 
der, as if expecting some chiding sexton or bell-ringer to 
appear. 

“Is it a pew?'^ demanded audacious Rena, “and why is 
it so different from the others. Who is my lord? and 

“Oh, sister, see!^'’ chimed in little Alice, who stood be- 
fore a beautiful mural tablet let into the wall half-way down 
the main body of the church, “two beautiful little angels 
clasped in each other^s arms, and letters in white marble! 
Come and read!^'' 

Jason Garfield stood leaning on his stick, his face singu- 
larly ghastly in the green light streaming down from a 
western oriel window, as Alice and Rena, standing hand in 
hand, slowly spelled out the inscription on the wall: 

“To the memory of Allegra and Katherine, twin daugh- 
ters of Adelbert, Earl of Glenhampton, who died June 21, 
18 — , aged two years and fifteen days. Suffer little children 
to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the 
Kingdom of Heaven 

“Come away, children, come, he said, huskily; “the bell 
will be ringing for evening service, soon, and we must not 
be found vagabonding about here! Come, I sayT^ 

“B'ut, grandpapa!’^ pleaded Alice, “I want to look at the 
marble angels more! Did you know about Allegra and 
Katherine? What made ^em die? Who is Adelbert, Earl 
of Glenhampton? Tell me all about it, grandpapaP^ 

But Jason Garfield had hobbled out of the church. Rena 
reluctantly followed him, and Alice, who had no fancy to 
be left alone in the big, echoing building, even in the com- 


10 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


panionship of the marble angels’^ ran lightly after. 

‘^The cold floor feels so good to my feet/'’ she said, pite- 
ously. ^‘Eena, don^t you think we might sit down here a 
minute on the green grass, where the water runs out of St. 
Hilda’s Cup, and bathe my sore foot?” 

^^It’s a church-yard,” said Kena, somewhat doubtfully. 

^^But nobody would see us if we got behind the hedge. 
Please, Rena, it smarts so!” 

And Rena, with a glance over her shoulder, to where her 
grandfather stood in front of the porch, leaning on his 
stick, and absently gazing off over the sun-gilded landscape, 
knelt down, and carefully removing the wretched mockery 
of shoes that scarcely covered her sister’s poor little blis- 
tered feet, began to bathe them in the cool water, with a 
touch strangely gentle and skillful for one so young. 

^^Oh, that feels so nice,” said Alice. ^‘Do it more, sis- 
ter. Let the drops fall down from your fingers!” 

But little Alice’s innocent enjoyment was not destined to 
continue long. 

‘^Clear out here, you young wagabones!” shouted a gruff 
voice close to them, as a gate in the hedges was suddenly 
opened. A- wash in of your dirty feet under the very 
sancter-ary! I wonder you don’t expect to be struck dead 
like Annermias and Saphiry! What’ll you wagrants be a- 
doin’ next? I’m a mind to have you afore a magistrate — I 
just have!” 

’‘Please, sir!” faltered Rena, making a bold stand, while 
her more timid sister snatched up her shoes, and ran 
breathlessly toward Jason Garfield, “we warn’t doing any 
harm!” 

“Harm!” echoed the sexton, for such the bunch of keys 
he carried betokened him to be. “Harm, indeed! Get 
along with yourself, quick, or I’ll know the reason why!” 

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Garfield, advancing slowly; 
^‘but we were not intending to trespass; we only stopped a 
minute to rest, and we're goin’ right on.” 

“Let me see you a-doin’ of it, then,” growled the irate 
sexton; and he stood watching them with Cerberus vigil- 
ance until they had got quite a distance down the road. 
“There’s always such a lot o’ tramps round the country in 
hop harvest,” he muttered, as he disappeared within the 
church porch. “Kobody don’t never know when they’re 
safe and when they ain’t/’ 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


11 


^^Grandpapa/^ said poor Alice^ piteously, so tired! 

Aren^t we almost there 

^‘Yes/^ said Jason Garfield, slowly; ^^yes, we are almost 
home. Don't you see me coming nearer to the castle 
towers 

^‘But that isn^t home,'^ sighed Alice. 

^^'No; but don^t you see the little cottage on the edge of 
the woods, where theiVs a wire fence 

^'With the chimneys painted blue?^^ eagerly demanded 
Eena. 

^‘Yes, with the chimneys painted blue; that is home!^^ 

He spoke in a tone of strange, subdued exaltation, and 
Aliceas weary face grew brighter at his .voice. 

It seemed near, but it was a long walk to the tired pedes- 
trians before they reached the outermost limits of the 
grounds of Glenhampton. Keeping in the footpath which 
led alongside of the ornamented wire fence, with its hedge 
of glossy-leaved rhododendrons beyond, and here and there 
a glimpse of close-shaven lawn, dotted over with huge trees 
apparently centuries old, they presently reached a little gate 
imbedded in the green wall of leaves. 

^ ^Grandpapa, it^s locked, said Kena, in an accent of 
disappointment. 

^^They mostly used to keep it lockcd,^^ said the old 
man; ^‘butthe key hangs just inside, where them as knows 
can find it. Yes, I thought so/’ 

He had deftly passed his arm through an aperture in the 
wdre-work, and reached a little iron key, with which he un- 
locked the gate and admitted himself and the two children. 

Rena glanced up at the rustic little lodge, overgrown 
with a perfect wilderness of ivy, woodbine, and clematis; but 
the window shutters were closed, and there were no signs 
of life about the solitary door-stone. 

^‘Grandpapa, wha/s that?^^ cried Alice, clinging closer to 
the old man, as some night-bird rustled through the gloomy 
foliage overhead. 

^'Nothing to hurt yer,^’ said Jason, gazing dejectedly 
around. ^AYell, well, I hadn^t no right to expect things to 
stand still durii/ the years I've been away. She^s dead, or 
she's moved away, an’ I haven't the strength to go an inch 
farther." 

He sank wearily down on the door-step, but the more 


12 


THE WIDOWED BHIDE. 


courageously hopeful Rena boldly lifted the latch and tried 
the door. 

^^Grandpapa, seeT^ she cried; ^^it comes open; it isn^t 
locked. Let ns go in!'^ 

A gust of moldy-smelling air streamed out upon the soft 
twilight atmosphere of the outer world from the confined 
room, and Rena, straining her eyes into the darkness, could 
just discern the outlines of a few articles of furniture stand- 
ing carelessly around, as if recently left by their possessors. 

‘'I'll open the window shutters, grandpapa,^' she said. 
“See, there's an old bedstead, and you can lie down and rest 
until somebody comes." 

“Until somebody comes!" 

Jason Garfield, rising feebly to his feet, felt a vague, bit- 
ter consciousness that the guest who should soonest cross the 
threshold to meet him face to face would be Death! 

“Aren’t you coming, grandpapa?" pleaded little Alice, 
laying her soft cheek coaxingly against his hand. 

“Yes, directly," he answered, slowly, as he glanced up at 
the purple sky where one or two stars were already beginning 
to shine through the amber glow of the west, for the sun 
had long been down and the air was full of dewy fragrance 
from glen, and copse, and fern-carpeted glade. “But there 
is something I must do first." 

He drew a soiled and crumpled bit of paper from his 
breast-pocket as he spoke, and using the ledge of the outer 
window for a desk, hurriedly wrote a few words upon it with 
a lead pencil. 

“Rena," he said to the elder child, who stood watching 
him with grave, dark eyes, “you are not so tired as Allie; 
will you take this note for me?" 

“Where, grandpapa?" 

“To Lady Glenhampton, at the castle. I can't leave you 
alone, my poor little ones, and if I could once see my 
lady " 

Alice came close to him, and looked up into his face with 
a startled glance. 

“But you're not going to leave us, grandpapa? I won't 
let you go away from me — I'll follow you." 

Jason Garfield groaned in spirit. How could he tell this 
innocent, loving little child, whose warm, clinging fingers 
closed so tightly round his chill hand whither he knew him- 
self to be summoned? What did these babes know of death? 


THE WWOWEB BRIDE. 13 

And how could he explain to them the inexplicable mys^ 
tery? 

^'Eena — Eena/^ he said, can trust my own little 
woman to be quick and sure, and give it into my lady^s own 
hand — just the note and nothing else. 

^^Biit where ami to go, grandpapa asked Eena.'^ 

the castle, child; just follow the road along, it^s a 
good half mile and more, for all the towers look as if they 
were so near; and you must make good speed, or you^ll may- 
be be too late.'’^ 

Eena, accustomed to render implicit obedience, took the 
note, and thrusting it safely into the bosom of her frock, 
tripped away upon the mission that was so new and strange 
to her, while Jason Garfield, tottering into the dusky apart- 
ment, sank helplessly upon the scantily furnished little bed 
in the corner. 

'^Are you sick, grandpapa?^^ asked Alice, as she stood 
beside him, with a troubled face. 

'G am tired, child, tired, that’s all. Keep quiet a while 
and let me rest,” he answered. 

^‘But I may hold your hand?” pleaded the child. ^‘It’s 
dark, and the leaves rustle so, and Fm afraid.” 

He took her hand in his. 

^^Kow sit still, Allie, and sister will soon be back.” 

Little Eena had set bravely forth, following the broad, 
graveled path which led from the wire gates, and wonder- 
ing, as she walked, at the size and symmetry of the feath- 
ery elms and ancient walnut trees on either side. 

^‘They must have been growing a hundred years,” she 
thought; ^^and how smooth the grass is, and what a strange 
whispering sound the wind makes.” 

But presently she came to a road which diverged equally 
wide and stately to the left. She stopped puzzled. 

don’t know which way to go,” she pondered; and then, 
as a low flying swallow darted to the left, she resolved to 
accept the omen and follow. 

But as the shadows of the trees grew denser, and the pur- 
ple darkness enwrapped the scene with an even heavier pall, 
and the far-off towers still eluded her view, Rena grew be- 
wildered and confused. She had somehow wandered from 
the wide road into a narrow path, bordered on either side 
by shrubbery and bushes. Here and there, through an 
opening in the laurels and acacias, she caught a glimpse of 


14 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


huge monsters, peacocks, bears, and human figures, cut in 
close-clipped box, the pride of the Glenharnpton gardener'^s 
heart, but a hideous mystery to poor Rena; while the white 
gleam of statuary or vases made her think of ghosts, even 
though she knew what they were. But the greatest terror 
of all was something that skimmed past Rena with a rust- 
ling sound, and the light creaking of branches, while the 
sound of breathing made her poor little heart stand still. 

^‘Oh! what is it? What is it?’^ she gasped, half aloud; for 
Rena, in her small experience of life, had never seen a pet 
deer before. And, with a sudden chill of terror congealing 
her blood, she sat down on the dewy grass, and began to 
cry bitterly, moaning the while: 

‘^Oh, Tm lost in the woods! Fm lost in the woods! Oh, 
grandpapa! Oh, dear little Allie! I shall never, never see 
them againT^ 


THE WIDOWED BBIDK 


15 


CHAPTER II. 

GLEKHAMPTOK CASTLE. 

Glenhampton Castle, in the golden softness of the Sep- 
tember starlight, was as stately and beautiful an edifice as 
the most critically architectural eye would wish to behold. 
Built of massive gray stone, with square towers on either 
side of the main building, the front was supported by 
Corinthian columns, with a turreted dome rising in the 
center to correspond with the smaller ones surmounting the 
side towers, and a broad flight of marble steps, crowned on 
either side by life-size groups, in marble statuary, ap- 
proached from the lawn. 

Within, the grand central hall, paved with a mosaic of 
antique marbles, was roofed with a dome of glass, nearly 
eight feet from the ground, seeming to rest on a circular 
row of black and gold Ionic columns. 

Adelbert, Lord Glenhampton, the inheritor of this splen- 
dor, and the last male scion of a long line of Norman an- 
cestry, was a gloomy and self-contained man, seldom seen 
in society, and rarely deigning to mingle in the gatherings 
of the neighborhood. He had married young, ‘‘for love,^^ 
as people phrase it, the orphan daughter of a nearly extinct 
Middlesex family, and she had survived their marriage only 
a year. Her death, followed within a brief period by that 
of her twin daughters, had been a shock from which Lord 
Glenhampton had never recovered, although his present wife^s 
beauty, talent, and ambition had vainly striven to i;e, kindle 
the dormant flame of energy and aspiration. Peopfe whis- 
pered about the gloomy earl, as people always will whis- 
per about those whose rank and station have raised them 
above the common herd; some called him “strange,^^ 
others hinted at a taint of hereditary insanity, and yet 
others intimated that he was not happy in his second mar- 
riage. Yet all these reports were nothing more than the 
breath of idle rumor, and as such Lord Glenhampton never 
heeded them, even if, as was not at all probable, he ever 
heard them. Tall and fair, with blue eyes and brown hair, 
slightly blended with gray, even at the age of three-and- 
thirty. Lord Glenhampton was handsome and stately, in 
spite of a deep wrinkle below the brows, and a habit that 
he had contracted of stooping as he walked, like one whose 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


IS 

eyes are ever bent upon the ground. The old housekeeper 
at the castle declared that Lord Glenhampton had never 
^‘fairly looked up’^ since the death of his fair, young wife 
and her twin babies; and perhaps she was not far from 
right. 

The present Countess of Glenhampton had been a young 
widow at the time of her elevation to the peerage, with one 
boy, two years old, and her only child by her present mar- 
riage was a little girl, now about seven, a dark-haired child, 
who bore the hereditary title of Lady Blanche Arden. Lady 
Glenhampton was brilliantly beautiful, with large, melting, 
oriental eyes, hair luxuriant, and purple black, and a skin 
of creamy whiteness; her daughter, child though she was, 
inherited her Jewess-like beauty, and little Ernest Evelyn, 
now about ten years old, bore the same type of dark bril- 
liance. 

She reclined in her drawing-room, this September even- 
ing, in a dress of gold colored satin, trimmed with dra- 
peries and festoons of white lace, and set oif by the blaze of 
the rare oriental topazes which encircled her throat and 
flashed from her ears. Ernest Evelyn sat on the floor at 
her feet, with a book in his lap, pouring with a child’s intent- 
ness over its pictured pages, and the little Lady Blanch 
was uttering childish shouts of delight as she bounded back 
and forth, joining iu the gambols of a pretty Italian gray-’ 
hound, as white as milk, while Miss Olive, the children’s 
governess, sat in the open window beyond. 

Antonia Clive was scarcely on the footing of an ordinary 
governess at Glenhampton Castle. She had been the count- 
ess’ most intimate friend when she was simple Mrs. Evelyn 
— she was still a favorite with the titled lady. Just twenty- 
eight years old, and in the full bloom and blush of her 
womanhood. Miss Clive presented a singular and exquisite 
foil to the dark beauty of Lady Glenhampton. 

She was dazzlingly fair, with a complexion where roses 
and lilies were radiantly commingled, hair of so pale a 
shade of gold that, deprived of the warming touch of sun- 
shine it became almost flaxen, and beryl-green eyes, deep- 
ening to the softest blue in moments of interest or excite- 
ment, while her features were of that pure Grecian outline 
one only sees in ancient pictures and statues. Like Lady 
Glenhampton, she was tall, but of reed-like slenderness, 
and it was always her preference to wear white dresses^ 


THE WIDOWED BBIDE, 


17 


whose straight, soft folds fell classically around her, with 
only a flower or a ribbon in her hair. She needed no orna- 
ment to enhance her attra($tions, and she was perfectly aware 
of the fact. 

Close beside Miss Clive, in truth, leaning over the back 
of the chair in which she sat, stood Arthur Hunsworth, the 
family lawyer of the Glenhamptons. For nearly a century, 
the legal business of the family at the castle had been trans- 
acted by the Hunsworths, grandfather, father, and son, and 
a cordial friendship had also existed during all these years 
between lawyers and clients, which the present Mr. Huns- 
worth was about to seal by a marriage with Lady Glen- 
hampton^s friend and governess, Antonia Clive. 

Arthur Hunsworth was a flne-looking man of about thirty, 
with hazel eyes, clustering brown curls, and a pleasant 
square mouth, overshadowed by a dark mustache — a man 
whom any woman might think it no shame to love and trust 
implicitly — and Antonia Clive evidently gloried in the fact 
that she had won this noble heart and nature to be her own. 
You could read it in her soft eyes uplifted to her loveFs 
face, in the rosy flush which stole over her face when he 
spoke to her, or allowed his eyes to rest lovingly upon her 
transparent brow. 

^"Day after to-morrow, Antonia he said, caressingly. 
^^The time draws very near now.^^ 

wish it were sooner;^’ Miss Clive exclaimed, with a 
sudden impulse, as her Angers involuntarily closed over the 
hand which had taken hers, a willing captive. 

^‘My darling — why?^' 

don^t know, Arthur — I can^t tell! Do you never ex- 
perience sensations which you cannot account for in so many 
words 

Antonia always believed in omens and premonitions 
laughed Lady Glenhampton, lightly. ‘You will have to 
effect a radical cure, Mr. Hunsworth. Wait until you are a 
bride, Antonia, and then you will be the first to laugh at 
these idle fancies.'’^ 

Little Lady Blanche had come up to her mother’s side, 
and stood there, gravely listening. 

^^And I am to be Miss Clive’s bridesmaid, mamma, am I 
not?” she asked, with eagerly shining eyes, ^^and hold her 
glove for her?” 

^Yes, darling,” answered Antonia, “and you are to pass 


18 


THE WIDOWED BEIDE. 


long days with me in the cottage under the beeches, you and 
Ernest, and mamma/' 

^^It is. all ready for us, Antonia,^' said Mr. Hunsworth, 
relieved to perceive that the momentary shadow had passed 
away from his fiancee’s fair brow, ^^and I am going down 
to-night for the last look before it is consigned to old 
Smithson's care, until we return from our wedding trip to 
claim it. I have had the boudoir ceiling decorated in lilac 
and gold to suit your taste, and Lady Glenhampton has 
insisted on filling the conservatory from her own stock of 
plants." 

^^Because I know which fiowers Antonia loves the best," 
said the countess. shall miss her sorely, Mr. Huns- 
worth; but you have the best right to her now, and it 
would be of little avail to keep Antonia here with An- 
tonia's heart gone." 

They talked idly on, now of one thing and now of an- 
other, and when Mr. Hunsworth finally took his leave 
Antonia Clive had forgotten her momentary depression 
and was light and gay as any sunbeam. 

“You will not walk down to the cottage with me, An- 
tonia?" he asked, holding her hand in his, with a linger- 
ing touch of tenderness. 

“Hot to-night; I have so many things to do," she an- 
swered, smiling. ^^You will be here early to-morrow morn- 
ing?" 

^^As early as I can get away from red tape and parch- 
ment bundles." 

She passed out on the marble-fiagged terrace with him, 
and they parted in genuine lover-like fashion. And, as 
he went down the broad fiight of fiower-garlanded steps, 
he turned and waved his hand to her, gayly, in the dim 
starlight. 

How little Antonia Clive dreamed that she should never 
look upon his living face again! 

He walked hurriedly on through the dusky shadows of the 
park. The cottage which was being prepared for his 
bride’s future home was some little distance from Glen- 
hampton, and he wished to give it one last survey that 
night. Haturally enough his mind was full of pleasant 
thoughts and fancies, as he strode lightly along, little reck- 
ing of the progress of time until he was suddenly rtartled 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


19 


by a small brown form rising as if by magie out of the 
tail, tangled ferns at his feet. 

^‘Halloo he ejaculated, stopping abruptly, ^‘what^s this? 
Is it pixy, elf, or brownie? Here, here, child, don’t run; 
nobody is going to harm yon! Who are you, and what 
on earth are you doing here?” 

^‘Fm Rena!” sobbed the child, ^‘^and Fm lost!” 

‘‘Why, where do you belong?” demanded Mr. Huns- 
worth, more puzzled than ever. 

“With grandfather. He’s down there, pointing with 
one tiny, trembling finger; “but I can’t find the place.” 

“What place is it?” 

“It’s a little house where nobody lives, down by the 
wire gate in the hedge.” 

“Oh, the deserted lodge! But wdiat is your grandfather 
doing there? Hoes he know that he is trespassing upon 
private grounds?” 

“He only came there to-night,” faltered Rena. “Oh, 
please take me there. Fm lost!” 

“Come, then,” said the lawyer, marveling within him- 
self. “Take hold of my hand, and we’ll soon be there.” 

“Is it far?” piteously questioned the wearied child. 

“Not very; half a mile or so.” 

Rena half ran, half hobbled by the side of her conductor, 
too thankful, to find herself going in the direction of her 
grandfather, even to think of the message he had intrusted 
to her hands. For she was but a child, and fright, weari- 
ness, and solitude had combined to unsettle her weary mem- 
ory. 

An oil lamp — part of the long disused furniture of the 
abandoned lodge — burned dimly on the table, as Rena led 
her guide up the two steps. Little Alice sprang from her 
place beside the bed. 

“Oh, Rena,” she cried, “I thought you never were com- 
ing back.” 

She stopped as she beheld a stranger with her little sister, 
and shrank slyly back. 

But Arthur Hunsworth neither saw nor noticed her. His 
eyes were riveted on the bowed form which sat, its elbows 
supported on its knees, in a wooden chair, where the sickly 
yellow light of the lamp shone feebly on its wrinkled brow 
and scant, silvery hair. The strange footstep sounding on 
the threshold seemed to rouse the old man from something 


20 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


which was neither dream nor syncope, but a commingling 
of both. He looked up, with wild, dilated eyes. 

‘‘Mr. Hunsworth?^^ broke gaspingly from his white lips. 

Apparently Mr. Hunsworth was no less astonished at the 
encounter than the old man. He approached as if scarcely 
crediting the evidence of his own senses, and exclaimed, in 
low, thrilling accents: 

“Jason Garfield! Is this you?^^ 


THE WIDOWED BHIDE. 


21 


CHAPTER HI. 

WHO WAS IT? 

The starlight shining through the antique latticed panes 
of the lodge casements blanched a square upon the floor, 
where, resting on one pillow, their couch naught softer than 
the rude boards, the two sisters lay, twined in each other’s 
arms, and sleeping the heavy, trance-like sleep of utter 
weariness, while around them lurked the awful shadows of 
death and danger, drawing nearer with every instant. 

No eyes, save those of the tender, brooding stars above, 
and perchance now and then a startled deer or solitary fawn 
lifting its head from the dew-sprinkled grass, beheld the 
gliding motion of white draperies, the momentary gleam of 
locks of tawny gold, as a tall, slender figure hurried through 
the loneliest nooks of Glenhampton Park. 

Was it a dream, or a vision, or the vapory mist-wreaths 
rising up from the glen assuming momentarily a shape akin 
to that of humanity? Little Rena, roused by what seemed 
to her the stealthy sound of footsteps, started in her slum- 
bers, and half opened her eyes, to behold — a strange contin- 
uation of the troubled vagaries of her dreams! — a white face, 
with wild, glittering eyes, bent over her own, so close that 
the long, fair hair touched her cheek. 

Eor one instant only, and then it was gone; and Rena, 
starting to her feet, shrieked aloud in the extremity of her 
childish terror: 

^‘Grandpapa! grandpapa! Oh, wake, Allie, wake! I am 
so frightened 1 There’s some one here close to us! Allie! 
grandpapa! wake!” 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ an 

Nor were Rena’s slumbers the only ones disturbed upon 
that eventful night. 

The ordinary sleep of the Earl of Glenhampton was light, 
with long intervals of feverish wakefulness; but he had rested 
fWell and soundly beyond his usual wont, and was still sleep- 
ing in the dark hours preceding the dawn, when his valet 
sounded a noisy peal upon his chamber door, 

^‘Wake, my lord!” he cried; ‘^wake! Eire! the castle's 
a-fire!” 

^^Hold your tongue, Linley!” bawled the husky voice of 
the old steward. “It ain’t no more a-fire than you be — no, 


2 ^ 


TSE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


nor half so much. Where’s the nse of raising such a hue and 
cry, and rousing my lord out of his bed at this time o’ night? 
I never see such a born fool as you be!” 

But by this time Lord Glenhampton had thrown on a 
black velvet dressing-robe, and hastened to the door. 

^'What is it, Boylsford?” he demanded, addressing the 
steward. ‘'‘Has anything happened?” 

“There’s a fire somewhere, my lord, sure enough,” an- 
swered the old servant, deferentially, “as you’ll see if you’ll 
just please to look out of your west window; but there 
war’nt no need for disturbing you, nor you, my lady. I’ve 
sent Jennings down with the keys of the private engine- 
house, and the boat-house, and I was just goin’ to step 
down myself, when ” 

But Lord Glenhampton staid to hear nothing more 
before he drew back the silken draperies that vailed the 
windows looking westward. 

Boylsford, the steward, was right, A fierce red light, 
now rising up into lurid tongues of flame, like the awful 
brightness that hangs over Vesuvius, now sinking down into 
rolling clouds of dusky redness, brooded over the tree-tops 
in the valley; and, as Lord Glenhampton turned, he saw 
the red radiance momentarily reflected in a pale, beautiful 
face at his side. 

Lady Glenhampton stood there, her white cashmere wrap- 
per thrown hurriedly round her, and secured by a heavy 
silken cord at the slender waist. 

“You up, Edith!” he said, half-reproachfully. “Do you 
know that the night air is chill?” 

“Oh, Adelbert!” she gasped, “what is it’ Where can it 
be? Hot in the hop-barns, I hope? Marienne told me 
there was a merry-making there late last night.” 

She caught at his arm, nervously clinging to him as she 
spoke. 

“Be calm, my darling,” he said, soothingly. “Ho, it is 
not in the direction of the hop-barns. It seems farther to 
the southward, and nearer to the park gates. There! do 

you hear the village bell ringing out? Edith ” And 

he stopped abruptly, as a sudden updarting volume of flame 
revealed the outlines of surrounding objects more ac- 
curately. “I believe it is the deserted lodge at the west 
entrance!” 

“Oh; Adelbert! but no one lives there.” 


TEE WIDOWED BBIDR 


23 


^'Fortunately not/^ lie answered: ^^and, if it is nothing 
more than the old lodge, I shall not regret it very much; it 
has long been a blur on the beauty of the landscape, and 
nothing save the old associations connected with the place 
have prevented me from pulling it down/^ 

^'Yes, I know,^^ said the countess, softly; ^^but, since 
those days 

She stopped, checked by the gloom which seemed sud- 
denly to enwrap her husband's face, and at the same mo- 
ment Boylsford knocked once more at the door of the outer 
vestibule. 

^'My lord, pardon me for disturbing you again, but Park- 
ins has just come up from the fire. It's the old lodge, my 
lord — burned to the ground!'^ 

‘^Then there is no great harm done. But how did it take 
fire?" 

'“'That's what I can't justly make out, my lord. Maybe 
'twas them botherin' hop-pickers coming home late with 
their lighted pipes. Maybe 'twas a spark from old Gaffer 
Jones's kitchen chimbly; he's up early gettin' breakfast for 
the hop hands, and his cottage ain't no great distance from 
the lodge. Anyway, my lord, there ain't no reason for you 
to disturb yourself, and I'm only sorry Linley hadn't got 
wit enough to keep himself to himself, instead of goin' 
racketin' about the house." 

And old Boylsford withdrew, muttering to himself as he 
went. Lord Glenhampton let the curtains fall once more. 

^'Go back to bed, Edith," he said to the countess, who 
stood beside him, shivering slightly in the raw morning 
chill. 

"Presently," she answered. "I must go first to see that 
the children have not been disturbed." 

"Call Marienne." 

"As if any eye but the mother's could satisfy the moth- 
er's heart!" she answered, smiling, as she drew the cash- 
mere robe closer about her queenly form, and vanished 
through the purple velvet draperies that concealed the 
arched door- way. 

The nursery at Glenhampton Castle was separated from 
the apartments of the earl and countess by a corridor, and 
the rooms devoted to Miss Clive's occupancy. A single 
glance at the two rosewood couches, vailed in embroidered 
laces, told the countess that little Ernest and Blanche were 


24 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


fast asleep. The door into the nurse^s room adjoining was 
open, and Lieschen, the trustworthy German woman, who 
had been Blanche's attendant, ever since her birth, was also 
asleep. 

Lady Glenhampton paused only to press her lips to 
Blanche’s sleep-flushed cheek, and put the curls away 
from Ernest's fair, white forehead, ere she went to Miss 
Clive’s room. 

‘^Antonia,” she breathed softly, opening the door as she 
perceived a line of light under it — ‘ 'Antonia, are you 
awake?” 

Antonia Clive was not only awake, hut she was up, and 
straining her eyes from the window. 

"Have they aroused you, dearest?” asked her friend, en- 
tering the room and passing her arm caressingly around the 
governess’ waist. 

"I heard the noise and the voices,” Miss Clive answered, 
putting back her hair with a sort of bewildered look. "Oh, 
Edith, what is it?” 

"Nothing that need make you look so pale, dear,” Lady 
Glenhampton answered with a smile. "Don’t you see the 
red right?” 

"But I thought it was the dawn.” 

"Little simpleton,” smiled the countess. "Don’t you 
remember that you are looking toward the west. It is a 
fire!” 

"A Are?” Antonia gasped; "where?” 

"Lord Glenhampton conjectured at once that it was the 
deserted lodge at the lower end of the park, and it seems he 
was right. There is no harm done. No one lives there, and 
it will give the earl an opportunity to replace the unseemly 
old pile by a building which will be really picturesque. Now, 
go to sleep, love, or Mr. Hunsworth will be lamenting the 
loss of your roses, when he comes in the morning.” 

"But Edith” — and Miss Clive caught at the countess’ 
robe, as if she would fain hinder her departure — "I — I have 
something to tell you. Edith, I am very wretched!” 

With a mute motion she pointed to the white cambric 
robe on the sofa, the embroidered Persian silk slippers on 
the rug, wet and bedraggled, as if they had been dragged 
through dew and dust. 

"I must have been sleep-walking, again, Edith,” she 
wailed, holding her face in Ladj Glenhampton’s breast. 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


25 


‘^Oh, Edith, I thought I had overcome that hideous habit! 
I have been in the park! Oh, 1 should have died outright 
of terror if I had wakened of a sudden and found myself 
there 

‘‘But what makes you think so eagerly questioned the 
countess. 

“When I heard Boylsford^s voice in the corridor, I sprang 
up and caught my dressing-robe. It was all wet with recent 
dews; my slippers, too, bore the marks of a long night 
walk.^^ 

She shuddered as the word^s fell from her lips, but Lady 
Glenhampton soothed her with soft words and loving 
caresses. 

“It is nothing, dearest, she murmured. “Lie down and 
rest. Your mind is so agitated just now, that your poor, 
overtasked body cannot but sympathize with it. Shall I 
get you a soothing draught 

But Antonia refused aught in the shape of medicine, 
and Lady Glenhampton persisted in sitting beside her bed 
until a troubled slumber once more descended upon her 
heavy eyelids. Then she rose, and not daring to touch her 
lips to the fair, pale face, lest she should break the fragile 
charm of the uncertain sleep, lifted up a long yellow tress 
of Antonia Clivers hair, and pressed it to her rich, red 
mouth. 

For these two women loved one another with an affection 
rendered all the more singular by the wide differences be- 
tween their respective stations in life. 

Long before Lady Glenhampton or her husband had left 
their apartments, the next morning, little Blanche s voice 
sounded merrily at Antonians door. 

“Miss Clive! Miss Clive! please will you come with Ernest 
and me to look at where the fire was last night? Lieschen 
has been down, and she says there^s a lot of villagers there, 
and all the hop pickers on their way to their work, and the 
ruins are smoking yetT' 

Heavy-eyed, and unrested by her brief slumbers, Antonia 
Clive obeyed the little girFs summons, and began a hurried 
toilet. 

“Perhaps a walk in the fresh air will do me good,^^ she 
thought. “At all events, it is worth the trial. Come, 
Blanche,'^ she added aloud, as she tied on her simple straw 
hat, and took up the white parasol, which lay on a table 


26 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


near by; and, with Blanche holding her hand^ and Ernest 
running on before, she walked down the broad, graveled 
path leading to the western entrance of Glenhampton Park. 

About half way to the gates, a gray-headed old man met 
them, walking very fast. Antonia recognized him as Mar- 
tin Valpy, the bailiif of the Glenhampton estates. 

^‘Good-morning, Mr. Valpy, she said, pleasantly; 
suppose you have been down to look at the fire? I was just 
taking the children there 

Martin Valpy touched his hat. 

beg your pardon. Miss Olive,^' he said, hesitatingly; 
^‘but — if I might make so bold as to advise, maybe you^d 
better turn back. IPs no sight for a lady^s eyes, let alone a 
little child^s?^^ 

^AVhy not?^' Miss Clive asked, unconsciously. 

He drew closer to her, lowering his voice as he did so. 

“Why, miss, it seems there was somebody took refuge 
in the lodge last night unknown to us all, as was burned to 
deaths — an old man, miss, and two children P 

“Burned to death echoed Antonia, in accents of breath- 
less horror, her face blanching as she listened. 

‘^^Yes, miss. Joseph, the under-gardener, he told me he 
was a-comiiP by there late last night, and he seed a light 
there, so what does he do but plucks up a sperit, and goes 
in and there sees an old man with two little slips gals 
asleep on the floor! So Joseph he asks what it all means, 
and the man tells a pitiful tale about havin^ no home, and 
startiiP off early the next mornin^; and Joe, he was allers a 
soft-hearted creetur, Joe was — he not only let ^em stay, but 
he brings ^em a hunk o^ bread and a mug o^ beer but of his 
missus^ cupboard. ‘Lord!^ he s'ays, ^you should hev seen 
^em eat!'’ And Joe he went over to Lingley to sleep, along 
o’ bein’ up early to get to work in Farmer Hawkins’ hop- 
fields, and so it come as he has cnly just heerd where the 
fire was. They’ve been a pryin’ up the beams, miss, and 
they’ve found sumthin’ charred and crushed like human 
bones, an’ scorched that horrible that 

But Antonia’s uplifted finger and deadly pale countenance 
warned him to desist in his catalogue of horrors. 

“Hush! no more!” she gasped, rather than spoke. 

“I beg your pardon, miss,” he said. “I was a-goin’ up to 
my lord, and I wouldn’t no-ways have you come sudden on 
a scene like that!” 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


27 


Touching his hat once more he departed, and Miss Clive 
called her little companions, who had been merrily chasing 
butterflies over the closely shorn grass, to her side. 

^‘Children,^^ she said, ^^Martin Valpy says we must not 
go to the fire. There is a crowd of people there, and your 
papa would not be pleased to have you go.^'’ 

Blanche uttered an exclamation of disappointment. 
Ernest pouted his lower lip sullenly. 

‘T want to see the fire he exclaimed. see the 

fire 

^‘We can see it without going directly to the spot,^^ said 
Miss Clive, in a conciliatory tone. ^^Don^t you know, 
E]*ney, from the top of the little hills, where the marble 
temple stands, we can see all the place 

^*8o we can,^'’ said Ernest, brightening up. ^^Come, 
Blanche, there's a short cut across the deer park, I know of, 
that will take us there in five minutes! I'll show you the 
way, Miss Clive." 

‘T know it already," said Antonia, smiling. have been 
there as often as you. Master Ernest!" 

She led the way, exercise and excitement recalling to her 
cheek somewhat of the color which had been stolen there- 
from by Martin Valpy's hideous tale, and her bright hair, 
escaped from its confining net, hanging in golden luxuri- 
ance down her back. 

Putting aside the hazel bushes she entered the copse, call- 
ing Blanche to follow. 

‘‘Pm going through the deer park I" shouted Ernest, wav- 
ing his straw hat in the air. ^T'm too big to be afraid of 
the deer — and I'll bet a cravat I'm there the first!" 

He dashed away in an opposite direction, while Antonia 
and Blanche kept on through the hazel copse until they 
reached an open space beyond, where Miss Clive suddenly 
paused, throwing up her arms above her head with a wild 
scream which echoed through the summer silence like a 
death-cry. 

For there, stretched stiff and stark among the ferns 
and grasses, his pale face turned full toward her, and his 
half-closed eyes, glazed with the horrible film of death, 
lay the corpse of a murdered man — her affianced husband, 
Arthur Hunsworth! 


28 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


CHAPTER IV. 

AKEW EKIEiTD. 

Contrary, however, to the universally received impression 
at Glenhampton Castle, and throughout the entire vicinity, 
the two little sisters had not perished in the devouring 
flames, which had made a flery mausoleum for the bones of 
poor old Jason Garfield. The merciful hand of Heaven 
had averted from them a doom so sudden and so frightful, 
and to explain in what manner they escaped the agonizing 
death by fire, which seemed almost inevitable, we must go 
back to the moment in which Rena had been startled from 
the dead sleep of exhaustion by the touch of the yellow 
hair against her cheek, and the glitter of weird, watching 
eyes. 

Alice, roused by her sister^s reiterated cries, had started 
also to her feet, looking wildly around her, in the dim, un- 
certain starlight. 

^•What is it, Rena?''' she questioned, grasping Renans arm, 
and dizzy and bewildered from her slumber. 

‘^Allie, didn^t you see some one?^' cried Rena, with chat- 
tering teeth. ^^Some one that rushed by you with long yel- 
low hair and a white dress 

^^No!” whispered Alice, with a thrill of terror chilling 
the warm tide of her veins. ^‘Rena, was it a ghost?'* 

ghost! No!^^ cried Rena, stamping her little foot on 
the floor. ^‘There are no ghosts, A Hie, and, if there were, 
this was not a ghost! It was a white woman — and I believe 
she meant to kill usV^ 

^^Did she speak to you, Rena?'^ faltered Alice, pressing 
closely up against her more courageous sister. 

‘^No, but her eyes looked so fierce and horrible, shud- 
dered Rena. ^^Where is grandpapa? Let us go to grand- 
papa.^' 

Hand in hand, the two children groped their way through 
the door- way of the adjoining room, to the bed, over which 
they had bent to give tlie old man their last good-night 
kisses. 

• "^Grandpapa,^^ cried Rena, and Aliceas softer voice echoed 
the word; ^^Grandpapa, wake up. We are frightened, 
grand papa P 

But there was no answer. Alice climbed up on the bed 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


29 


and put her hand on the forehead she could but just dis- 
cern in the faint glimmer of the casement. She drew it 
back with a sudden movement of dismay. 

^^How cold he is! And why doesn^’t he speak to me? 
Eena, Eena, I am afraid 1^^ broke tremulously from her lips. 

Eena felt his head, and uttered a wild, piteous wail! 

^^Oh, Allie, he is dead! Grandpapa is dead! He never 
will speak to you any moreT^ 

With a child’s untaught, instinctive terror of death, both 
of the little girls shrank away from the couch upon which 
rested the mortal remains of him who had at last put on 
immortality. In the same instant the rising wind fluttered 
the ivy trails at the casement, and an owl shrieked down the 
ruinous chimney with a mournful cry like that of the 
banshee. 

‘‘It is a ghost !’^ faltered Allie. “Eena, Ee — na, let us 
run !^^ 

Of ghostly visitants, Eena was not afraid, but she had a 
mortal horror of the reappearance of the human shadow 
she called the “White Woman,^^ and flight appeared to be 
the only surety of avoiding it. She caught Alice’s hand in 
hers, and the two lonely vision-haunted little creatures fled 
out into the starry darkness, crouching under hedges, 
pausing with palpitating hearts at every flutter of a leaf, or 
creaking of a wind-stirred bough. 

Eena fully believed that she had taken the road leading 
to St. Hilda’s Church, and the little village they had seen 
the day before; but in her agitation, combined with the 
darkness and her own uncertain ideas of the localities, she 
had kept on past the turning, and was several miles on a 
road leading away to the north-west; while little Alice, 
mutely obedient to her sister’s guiding hand, and half 
asleep as she walked, or rather stumbled along, neither re- 
monstrated or complained. 

The one all-absorbing idea, which had taken possession 
of Eena’s child- mind, was to escape away as far as possible 
from the dismal woods and darkness, and with blistered 
feet, torn garments, and delicate skin bleeding in more than 
one spot from the cruel spikes of wayside thorns and briers, 
the children plodded on, scarcely knowing that every footstep 
took them farther from the last clew which connected their 
past life and the future. 

“Eena,” pleaded poor little Alice at last, “please let me 


30 


THE WIDOWED BBIDE, 


sit down and rest! I can’t walk another step; my feet ache 
so hard, and my head feels giddy!” 

""Only a little ways farther, Allie,” persuaded her sister. 
""I think we shall come to some houses soon.” 

""I can’t, Eena.” 

And something in the piteous tone of her voice told Eena 
that the poor child was utterly exhausted. 

She sat down in the grass, under the protecting shadow 
of an overhanging hedgerow, where the level rays of the 
early morning sun turned the dewy jeweling of the short 
grass to diamonds, and took Alice's head in her lap, with a 
protecting tenderness which was infinitely pathetic in one 
so young. 

But Alice sat up again, clutching her sister’s arm, with a 
face of terror. 

""What is it, Allie?” questioned Eena. 

""Some one’s watching us from the other side of the 
hedge,” whispered Alice. ""I saw eyes looking at me 
through the bushes, and a woman’s face.’' 

Eena sprang to her feet, with an un shaped idea that the 
"‘White Woman” had followed them even thither; but the 
next moment a brown hand put aside the thick foliage, and 
a tall, lithe figure crept through the boughs and stood con- 
fronting them. 

It was the figure of a woman considerably past middle life, 
yet erect and v/ell-molded, with a bronzed face, small, black 
eyes, which roved hither and thither with a keen, restless 
light, and long, black hair, strewn with white, which hung 
down her back, over a weather-stained cloak of coarse red 
camlet. A calico handkerchief was tied over the top of her 
head, she wore the coarsest ef shoes on her feet, and her 
dress was of rusty black, scarcely reaching to her ankles. A 
spot ill the grass, crushed and tumbled, showed where she 
had been lying, and a small, compactly tied bundle had evi- 
dently served for a pillow. Eena had not unfrequently seen 
such women before, and knew her at once for a wayside 
tramp— a pretended gipsy, who earned a precarious liveli- 
hood by telling fortunes, or begging from door to door of 
the hospitable farmers’ houses. 

""And who be you,” she demanded, shrilly, ""as comes 
racketin’ along, frightenin’ a honest woman out of a year’s 
growth, just as she’s had her down for a wink o’ sleep? Who 
be you, and what lay are you on?” 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


31 


don^t know what you mean, ma am/^ said Rena, tim- 
idly, and yet reassured by the sound of a human voice which, 
though sharp and high-pitched, was not unkindly in its 
tones. ^‘We are Alice and Rena, and grandpapa is dead, and 
we are lost.-’^ 

^^Lost, eh?^' said the woman. ^^Where do you live?^^ 

^^We lived in France once,^^ answered Rena; ^‘but we 
doE^t live anywhere now.^^ 

^‘Then it don^t stand to natuF as you can be lost,^^ the 
woman retorted, with a hoarse chuckle. ^ Whereas them as 
belongs to you 

^ ^Nobody belongs to us,^^ innocently responded Rena, un- 
conscious of the depth of utter desolation involved in her 
words; ^^there’s only Alice and me since grandpapa died.’^ 

^^Was you goin'’ to London abruptly interrogated the 
woman. 

^‘No, ma'am, not that I know of. Is London far?'^ asked 
Rena, looking wonderingly up into the woman's face. 

^^A good bit!'^ the gipsy answered, with a backward mo- 
tion of her head toward the north. ‘‘But law, it wouldn't 
be nothin' of a ways for them as has the pluck of you young 
kids! Ye're tired, ain't ye? and the little 'un's hurt her 
foot, as I live! Bide a bit — bide a bit!" 

She drew a tattered piece of cotton cloth from her pocket 
as she spoke, and kneeling down beside Alice, bound up the 
sore, blood-stained feet, with a hand which if hard and 
brown was not ungentle. 

. “Doesn't that feel better?" she asked, straightening her- 
self up again, and placing both hands on her hips. 

^‘Yes, ma'am, thank you," said Alice, while Rena's face 
mutely expressed her gratitude. 

The woman, after eying both of them a minute, suddenly 
stooped and took Alice into her arms. 

“The kid ain't no weight to speak of," she said, with a 
short laugh. “I'll carry her a bit of a ways, if so be as ye're 
goin' on to London." 

“We are not going anywhere in particular," said Rena, 
hesitatingly. “If you would let us keep with you " 

“And welcome," the woman answered, almost eagerly. 
“London's a fine, place for them as' has their livin' to get. 
Nobody don't need to starve in London!" 

“Do you think Allie and I could earn our living there?'’ 
asked Rena, who, child though she was, had been in danger 


32 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


of sheer starvation often enough to be troubled by many a 
grim doubt on the bread-and-cheese question. 

^"Earn your livin^T^ echoed the woman, as she strode 
along so rapidly that although she was burdened with the 
other child's weight Eena was forced almost to run to keep 
at her side. ^'Why, with your faces you^d ought to make 
your fortunes 

^^But how?"^ 

^‘Stay along wi^ me, and Fll show you how!” their strange 
guide answered. ^‘There's ways and means enough for. them 
as knows — plenty to eat and gay clothes to wear, and nothin’ 
to do but to enjoy yourself.” 

^‘But your clothes are ragged and dirty,” remonstrated 
straightforward Rena. 

The woman broke into a laugh. 

^‘D’ye’spose I’m a born nateral to wear my best things on 
the tramp?” she asked. “Wait till ye see my silk gound at 
home, and the shawls I’ve got and the strings o’ beads and 
ear-drops! And you shall liave some of ’em if you’re good 
girls!” 

“Shall we?” said Rena, doubtfully. “Allie likes beads 
and gay things!” 

“Don’t you?” 

“Not so much. Is she asleep?” 

“Fast as a dormouse,” the gipsy answered. “Poor thing! 
she must ha’ been mortal tired! Did ye walk far?” 

“I don't know how far,” said Rena. 

“What was the name of the place as ye corned from?” 

Rena shook her head. 

“There was a castle there,” she said, “and a place called 
St. Hilda’s Church!” 

“I don’t know of no such place!” the woman observed, 
after a moment or two of deliberation. “But it don’t mat- 
ter so much where ye corned from as it do where ye’re goin’ 
tc? Be ye hungered? My inside’s been cry in’ ^cupboard!’ 
this long while!” 

“Yes,” Rena answered, simply. 

“D’ye see the chimney-stacks o’ that ’ere farm-house?” 

“Yes.’' 

“That’s where we’ll get our breakfast,” said the woman, 
hiclining her head, and shifting the sleeping child a little 
lower on her arm. 

Do you know the people?” questioned Rena. 


WIDO WED BRIDE. 


33 


^^Never set eyes on ^em/^ was the brusque reply. 

^‘Then how began Eena, in great perplexity, but 

the gipsy interrupted her with a good-humored laugh. 

^‘Wait and see/’ she said, ^^and mind ye keep a close 
tongue in your head.'’^ 

She advanced boldly up to the wicket -gate of a farm 
yard, where, through comfortable looking stacks of hay, 
and substantial barns and out-buildings, one could just 
catch, here and there, a glimpse of a low-eaved house, sur- 
mounted by lilac bushes and currant hedges. 

‘‘Whisht! whishtPshe said, “theiVs nothing to be afeard 
on,^^ as Alice woke with a cry and start at the uproarious 
barking of two or three mongrel curs, who rushed tumultu- 
ously to the gate, at the sound of strange footsteps, thereby 
arousing the deep baying of a larger dog, or mastilf, 
chained to his kennel farther in. 

“Hush, Tige! down SnapP^ exclaimed a cheery voice, and 
a buxom girl, of sixteen or seventeen, came out of the 
eastern door. “Who^s there, and what is it you want?^' 

“Haught on earth but the bit and the sup yedl never 
miss, my bonny lady,^' the woman began, in insinuating 
accents; “a crust o’ bread and a cup o^ milk for the chil- 
dren.^^ 

The farmer^s daughter, for such she was, looked compas- 
sionately upon the wearied little creatures. 

“Are they yours she asked. 

“That they be, miss,^' the woman answered, with smooth, 
ready falsehood; “and their father’s been dead these two 
year, come next Michaelmas, and a hard row it is for a lone 
woman to be feedin^ for both of ^em, for 

“Wait a minute, said the girl, “and 1^11 bring you some- 
thing, or, maybe youM better come in the kitchen, and sit 
by the fire — the morning air is a bit chilly yet.^' 

The woman, with a profusion of thanks, followed her 
young guide into a large, low-ceiled room, with a great, 
cheerful fire at one end of it, and the transverse beams, 
huge and smoke blackened, hung with hams, flitches of 
streaky bacon, and strings of onions, dried apples, and 
herbs. A single window at the south end, vailed with vine 
leaves, admitted zig-zag bars of sunshine, and a caged lin- 
net was singing uproariously in the morning light. 

“Oh, what a nice place!’"’ whispered Alice. “I should 
like to stay here always; shouldn’t you, Rena?^’ 


34 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


The simple meal of fresh-baked brown bread and milk, 
with a red harvest apple for each of the children, was 
quickly disposed of, and the woman turned fawningly to 
the pretty girl, who had sat watching them eat, with a sort 
of innocent pleasure in seeing their hunger satisfied. 

‘‘My bonny lass,^^ she said, “you let the old gipsy tell 
your fortin^ now. There ainT a many can see the futur’ as 

I can, and there’s a black- eyed husband ain’t far off, as ” 

“Not black-eyed,’' interrupted the girl, laughing and 
blushing. 

“Dark eyes, I’ll go bail. Dark blue, maybe, but you 

have to look twice to see the color — and brown hair -!” 

“And that’s true,” said the girl. 

“Brown hair, and a face handsome enough for a king,” 
smoothly w^ent on the gipsy, “and he’d marry you to-mor- 
row if ” 

“Now, don’t ye go to putting nonsense in the lassie’s 
head,” good-humoredly interrupted the farmer, a stout 
grizzle-headed man, who had come in with a pail in either 
hand. “They always do a harm enough of it, without no 
help. Clear out, I say. You’ve broke your fast and 
quenched your thirst, and there ain’t nothin’ you need to 
stay for now. Go about your work, Delly, child, that’s 
the best way to get good husbands, if gals only knowedit.” 

It was not until the three paused at a wayside brook, two 
or three hours later, that Eena, to her astonishment, saw 
the gipsy woman stoop and dip up a draught of sparkling 
water with a little plated mug she had seen and admired on 
the farm-house dresser, as she had munched her crust of 
bread, that very morning. 

“Where did you get that?” she asked, doubtfully, yet fear- 
ful of putting her vague fears into words. 

“Where should I get it?” answered the woman, roughly. 
•“Haven’t I had it ever sin’ I was knee high to a grass- 
hopper?” 

“You are not telling the truth!” said Eena, valiantly. 
“I saw it on the cupboard-shelves at the house where they 
gave us the bread and the milk.” 

The woman laughed, but her face was as black as a thun- 
der cloud, nevertheless. 

“You’re a sharp ’un, I do declare,” she said; “a reg’lar 
needie’s-eye! Well, it was the same one, if you’re so scrupu- 
lous about it.” 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


35 


^^But how came it here?^^ persisted Kena. 

*^The young woman gave it to me/^ 

^‘I did not see hei\'^ 

^‘^And she didn^t mean you should. She didn't let her 
dad see, either. It was all because of the fine husband I 
promised her. Ain^t that worth a cup^ any day?^^ 

Rena was not quite satisfied, but she had no reason to 
give for doubting any further. That the woman had stolen 
the mug, which had some value, she was certain, and she 
began to regret the rashness which had, as it were, given 
herself and her little sister up into the keeping and guid- 
ance of this unprincipled tramp. 

But Rena was but a child of nine years old after all, and 
lived more in the present than in the future — moreover, 
she had a child^s implicit trust that some way out of the 
troubled labyrinth would be provided. For the present she 
and Allie were quite in this woman^s power, but she was 
kind to them, after her rough fashion, and a poor protector 
was many degrees better than no protector at all. So Rena 
cast ofi all care and suspicion, and reveled in the glorious 
sunshine of the September day, with the elasticity that 
belonged to her years and temperament. They were going 
to London, and to her London seemed a far-off fairy dream 
of splendor and luxury — a castle in the air, about to assume 
shape and reality. 

They must have walked twelve or fifteen miles that day 
— along quiet roads, sometimes exchanging words and 
greetings with the hop-pickers, sometimes pausing to rest in 
sheltered nooks, when Alice slept, her head pillowed among 
wild flowers and perfumed ferns, and Rena frolicked about, 
enjoying the novelty and beauty of all that surrounded her. 
Toward evening a passing teamster gave them a ^fiifF^ of 
two or three miles in his empty cart, which was a great re- 
lief, and they slept in a barn. 

•^AinT it nice, Allie cried Rena, clasping her little sis- 
ter close in her arms. ^'Wouldn't you like to live so 
always?^' 

‘'But the winter would come, Rena,'^ argued Alice, ''and 
then it would be cold and dreary.''^ 

To Rena it seemed as if she had been asleep half the night; in 
reality it had been but an hour or so, when she waked, roused 
probably by the rustling of the hay, and saw to her surprise 
and terror that the gipsy woman had left her covert beside 


36 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


them, and was stealing softly out, moving with panther-like 
precaution and stealthiness. Eena, scarcely daring to breathe, 
much less move, lay with dilated eyes, watching her. 

^‘She is going otf to leave us! she means to run away 
from us!^’ was her first thought, and she had started up with 
the idea of following, when she began to realize how foolish 
it was to apprehend any such imaginary change. The shawl 
and red cloak lay close by, their owner would probably re- 
turn soon, and there certainly existed no sufficient motive 
for the gipsy thus abruptly deserting the little companions 
she had voluntarily adopted. 

Yet, in spite of all these consoling reflections, Eena 
lay nervously watching and listening as the peaceful night 
wore on. 

wonder where she can be going?^' she thought. 
wonder why she didnT wake us up? Oh, if she shouldnT 
come back at all!’^ 

The horror of this renewed anxiety was still torturing the 
poor little lonely waif, when the sound of low voices below 
relieved her in some degree — a man^s deep tone, subdued to 
its least audible pitch, and the peculiar gruff accents of the 
pretended gipsy. 

tell you,’"’ the former said, speaking as if in some irri- 
tation, ^fit wouldnT do — the beaks are on the scent. 

^‘And youfil let me take all the danger! That^s a pretty 
note, that is!^^ 

^'There ain't none — not for you/ You've kept dark this 
six months, and there ain't nobody knows you are in the 
country. And then the kids " 

^^Well, well!" interrupted the woman, ^ fit's got to be as 
you says. Mind you're ready for me, that's all; it won’t do 
to run no risks, or it may be a black night's work for more'n 
one of us!" 

And Eena, who had listened eagerly to these uncompre- 
hended words, could hear the soft tread of the stranger 
dying away on the grass, and the rustling movements of her 
protectress among the hay, as she seemed to be undoing and 
rearranging the bundles she had used for her pillows. She 
was yet busied in this occupation, when the child, wearied 
out by watching, and fatigued, fell fast asleep. 

When she was roused, at the earliest dawn of morning, to 
resume their journey, she might almost have been tempted 
to believe the whole occurrence the troubled visions of slum- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


37 


ber, had it not been for the significant fact that the gipsy 
bundle had assumed larger proportions. Little Alice no- 
ticed it at once, with the quickness of perception natuial to 
her. 

^‘What have you put in your bundle, Mother Meg?^^ she 
asked, for by that name the woman had instructed the little 
girls to call her. ‘‘What makes it so big?^^ 

“Only some clothes as a friend of mine axed me to call 
for on the way; don’t be a meddlin’,” sharply exclaimed the 
gipsy, as Alice was about to examine for herself. “She’s 
awful particular, and she’d know if you so much as laid a 
finger on ’em. There, now, let’s be off, for I’ve got to be 
in London by noon.” 

And in the excitement of these novel tidings the little 
girls forgot aught else. 


38 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


CHAPTEE V. 

m TROUBLE. 

London, with its vast coronet of smoke and fog hanging 
over tower, and turret, and dreary wilderness of bwck and 
mortar — London, with its scorching pavements, and vague 
hum of restless life and motion, and its far-reaching net-work 
of lanes, and alleys, and swarming streets. To the tourists 
who dashes through its more attractive suburbs in a cab 
drawn by a high-stepping horse, or enjoys it from the stand- 
point of wealth and aristocratic station, London may seem 
a pleasant place; but to foot-sore and wearied wretches like 
Eena and Alice, who drag their aching bones over the cruel 
pavements, bewildered by the noise, frightened by the 
strangeness, and unxiertain what may become of them in the 
huge maelstrom of human life, it presents quite a different 
impression. 

^^Mother Meg, I am so tired said Alice, hanging heavily 
on Kenan’s hand. ^^OaiTt T sit down and rest a minute 

But Mother Meg paid no attention to the Childs’s entreaty. 
Since they had entered the suburbs of London her manner 
had altered to a degree that puzzled Alice sorely, while it 
alarmed her more observant sister. 

^‘What made her drag us so suddenly into that dark court 
and keep us there go long?’^ whispered Alice; ^^and why does 
she dodge in and out of the side streets? Pm afraid of her, 
Eena.^^ 

^‘Hushr^ Eena made answer, in the same subdued tones, 
as she watched Mother Meg exchange stealthy signals with 
a sallow-faced woman who was leaning out of a second-story 
window, her chin supported on both hands. The gipsy 
raised her eyebrows slightly, the woman, apparently absorbed 
in watching the antics of a withered little monkey, belong- 
ing to an Italian with a barrel-organ under her window, 
nodded her head with a scarcely perceptible motion. 

^"Do you know that woman. Mother Meg? Who is she?^’ 
asked Eena. 

^‘What woman ?^' gruffly asked Meg. 

^‘The one you nodded to just now/^ 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


^^1 didn^t nod to nobody; I don^t know nobody^ and I jupt 
wish you’d mind your own business/’ sharply answered Meg. 
“There, take the bundle and carry it a ways. There ain’t 
no reason you shouldn’t do your share of the work.” 

She had stopped, and turned slightly pale under the brown 
sheath of sunburn that covered her face, apparently at no 
more sufficient cause than the fact that a crooked little Jew, 
the keeper of a second-hand clothing store, had come out to 
hang a red silk pocket-handkerchief on one of his show- 
hooks, shaking it out twice rather ostentatiously as he did 
so. She stood a moment hesitating^ The Jew, apparently 
changing his mind, took the handkerchief down once more, 
and carried it in. This decided Mother Meg’s line of tac- 
tics. 

“Carry it like a child,” she whispered, hurriedly re-arrang- 
ing the heavy bundle which weighed down Eena’s slender 
arms. “So — under your shawl; and if any one axes ques- 
tions of you, tell ’em it’s your little brother as has got the 
measles. Go straight on, and don’t look to the right hand 
nor to the left.” 

And before Eena could fairly understand the directions 
hissed into her ear. Mother M^eg had darted across to the other 
side of the street. andTvas strolling leisurely along, appar- 
ently absorbed in the gay prints and delaines displayed in 
the shop windows. 

A minute afterward, Eena, who had kept mechanically 
on, found herself face to face with a burly policemen, who 
had come unexpectedly around the corner. 

“Why don’t you look where you’re a-goin’?” demanded 
this apparition in a voice of an aggrieved personage. “Stop 
a bit — not quite so fast. What’s that you have there?” 

“It’s — it’s my little brother,” faltered Rena; “he s got the 
measles, and ” 

But the policemen, evidently regarding the two dusty lit- 
tl 3 girls as suspicious-looking characters, took the bundle 
away from her without further ceremony. 

“He’s heavy for a child of his age,” he observed, satiri- 
cally. “Considerable broke out, too, with the rash. I don’t 
think it’s quite safe for him to be out without the family 

physician’s advice. Let’s have a look at him. Whew-w-w! 

’^fell, you are an innocent appearin’ one for such a plant as 
j/his ere ! AVhere’s the rest of you ?” 

Rena shrank from the iron grasp of his hand upon her 


40 


THE WIDOWED BEIDE. 


arm, while Alice burst into clamorous weeping. 

^^Mother Meg gave it to me/’ she answered, very pale, but 
firm, with her dilated eyes fixed full upon his face. 

^^Your mother?^^ 

Kena answered, with a flush of wounded pride 
upon her forehead. ‘^We found her yesterday under a 
hedge. 

“Where is she?^^ 

^^She went across the street,^' Eena made reply, looking 
around with a bewildered glance. “I don’t see her now.” 

^^And you won’t see her — not at present,” the policeman 
said. ^‘That’s all right! so come along! I’ll never complain 
o’ bad luck again. To think I should ha' stumbled right on 
the reward arter all, and we clear of the track of it, as one 
might suppose! Come on, I say,” he added, giving the 
child’s arm a little jerk. ^^There ain't no use a-hangin’ 
hack.” ‘ 

“Where are you taking me to?” asked Rena, wildly. 
“Hush, Allie! don’t cry so!” 

“That’s a pretty question to ask,” answered the police- 
man. “Why, to the station ’us, to be sure — did ye s’pose 
I’m a-takin’ of ye to Buckiii’am Pallis?” 

Now, the two little girls, after threading a labyrinth of 
narrow, crowded streets, and walking until they could 
scarcely drag one foot after the other, found themselves 
locked into a square cell — for it was hardly large enough to 
deserve the name of room — with whitewashed walls, a grated 
window close to the ceiling, an iron bedstead, and a wooden 
bench and table, by way of furniture. 

“They’ll bring you some’at to eat, presently,” said the 
man with the keys, into whose hands their captor had in- 
trusted the poor fugitives. “You needn’t fret, neither, for 
nobody ain’t a-goin' to hurt ye.” 

And the clang of the door behind them echoed his words. 

^^Rena! Rena!” whispered Alice, looking around her, with 
a white cheek and fluttering heart, “where are we? Is this 
a jail?” 

“No,” said Rena, affecting a courage she did not feel, 
“it’s only a station-house. Didn’t you hear the man say 
so?” 

“But we are locked in — and don’t you see the bars at the 
window?” 


THE WIDOWED BBIDE. 


41 


we haven^t done anything wrong persisted Eent,^ 
^‘and how can they put ns in a jail?'’^ 

Poor little innocent Rena — had she been a few years older 
and wiser, she might have expressed the simple tenets of her 
faith in the grand words of the English poet: 

“Stone walls do not a prison make 
Nor iron bars a cage!” 

It would have been no inappropriate sentiment, for the 
child^s simple confidence was unshaken in the ultimate tri- 
umph of the right. 

"'What will they do to us, Rena?^^ asked Alice, the color 
coming and going on her cheeks as she nestled close up to 
her sister. 

"I don’t know, Allie.” 

"Will they take you away from me?” 

"They shall not!” exclaimed Rena, with flashing eyes. 
"I won’t let them!” 

And Alice, somewhat encouraged by this boldly uttered 
assertion, twined her fingers in those of her sister. 

"It’s because you told a lie, Rena,” she said, gravely. 
"‘You said Mother Meg’s bundle was your little brother.” 

"She told me to,” said puzzled Rena. 

"All the same, it was a lie,’' persisted Alice. "I don’t 
think Mother Meg was a good woman, Rena. She told 
wicked lies — and she stole that cup, I know.” 

"But she was kind to us, Allie.” 

"Yes, she was kind to us, but that don't make her good. 
I don’t think grandpapa would have liked her, Rena.” 

Rena sat silent — the great puzzle of existence was too 
much for her small mind to solve as yet. 

"Oh, Allie!” she broke forth, at length, "don’t it seem a 
year since grandpapa died! I am so miserable, Allie, but I 
can’t cry like you do.” 

Alice drew her little hands caressingly over her sister’s 
face. 

"But I don’t understand it all,” she said. "We haven’t 
done anything, Rena, you and I, but we are here locked up. 
Let’s make 'em let us out.” 

Rena shook her head; she saw the difficulties in the way 
of their liberation more fully than her little sister saw them. 

They are coming back,’' said Alice. "Rena! Rena! re- 
member you said they shouldn’t take you away from me!” 


42 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


^‘Don^t be afraid said Eena, encouragingly, and she 
took both Alice’s hands firmly in hers as the keys g^ate^ 
harshly in the lock without. 

But they might have spared themselves their fears for tr 
present at least — it was only a surly looking official, witn 
hair cut so closely to his head that it looked like bristles, 
who carried tin bowls of very sky-blue milk with a tin plate 
of crackers. 

^‘^Dinner,^^ was his gruff remark. ^^And be quick about 
it — you comes on as soon as his worship sets.’^ 

^‘Whafc does he mean, Rena?^^ whispered Alice, greedily 
beginning to eat her bread and milk, for she was nearly fam- 
ished. 

But Rena could not tell her, and the bristly-haired man, 
making his appearance soon after, summoned them to fol- 
low him. 

^^'Court^s up,^^ said he, ^^and it won’t do to keep his wor- 
ship waitin’. Come!” 

Who’s his worship?” timidly asked Rena, rising to obey. 
The man stared at her with dull, fishy eyes of surprise. 

^T)on’t ye know?” he asked. ^AYhy, he’s Sir John!” 

And before Rena could ask any more questions she was 
led down a long corridor to a large, light apartment, wains- 
coted around in polished oak, with a rail extending around 
three sides, behind which sat a portly old. gentlema in 
gold spectacles, half a dozen others, and two clerks writing 
busily at a desk. A crowd of people, of all ages and sexes, 
were gathered around the door opposite, apparently attracted 
thither by no stronger motive than idle curiosity, and in a 
sort of railed-in box at the left Rena and Alice started to 
see Mother Meg herself, in the identical red camlet cloak 
with two policemen behind her. 

"‘These are the children, eh?” said the gold-spectacled old 
gentleman, looking up, as the policeman who had made the 
arrest stepped forward and took Rena’s hand from that of 
the bristle-headed official. 

“Yes, your worship, them is the children. This ’ere wit 
the black eyes was the one as had the bundle.” 

The old gentleman looked kindly at the two little girls as 
they were placed in a box corresponding to that occupied by 
Mother Meg. 

Rena thought, as her timid eyes met his glance, that she 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE. 43 

should not be afraid to talk to him if he were to ask her any 
questions. 

‘'‘They are very yonng/^ said he, compassionately. 

Young in years, but old in wickedness — we see too many 
cases of that here. Sir John,'^ said a tall, fair-haired man, 
leaning against the table. 

‘'What is your name, my dear,’^ said Sir John Lavely, the 
magistrate, as Kena stood looking at him, her chin just on 
a level with the top of the box. 

"Eena Mordaunt.^' 

" Serena r 

"Ko, sir, Eena — nothing else.^^ 

"And your sister^s? She is your sister, I suppose?^^ 

"Alice, sir.’^ 

"Just what I told your honor, eagerly put in Mother 
Meg. "Eena aiT Alice — the only grandchildren Fve got 
left in my old age, and them as innocent as the new-born 
babe.^^ 

"We are not her grandchildren flashed out Eena,wrath- 
fully. "We never saw her until yesterday.^^ 

"Accounts disagree,^' said Sir John, dryly. 

"DoiiT pay no heed to nothin^ they says, my lord, your 
honor, cried Mother Meg; "theyTe little liars, an’ always 
was, to disown their poor old grandmother as has worked 
her Angers to the bone for ^em. I never see such wampires 
in all my day.^^ 

"How is it, little one,^^ said the magistrate, suddenly di- 
recting his gaze at Alice; "is she your grandmother?^^ 

"No, sir,^' Alice answered, simply. 

Mother Meg burst into a torrent of angry exclamations 
and abusive epithets. 

"Officer,^’ said Sir John, "take that woman out, since she 
cannot conduct herself properly in the presence of the court. 
Now, then,'’'' as the bustle attendant upon Mother Meg’s re- 
moval was hushed into silence, "we will proceed with the 
examination. Eena,"" with an encouraging nod to the small 
witness, "tell me as plainly as you can how you first met this 
woman."" 

And Eena accordingly told her simple tale, with which 
Alice’s, who was separately examined, entirely coincided. 

"This is a strange story,’" said good old Sir John, "and I 
can"t make either head or tale of it. The old woman lies 


44 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


like a trooper, that^s plain enough, but I^m inclined to think 
these little girls have been mere tools in her hands/^ 

dear Sir John,^^ exclaimed the fair-haired gentle- 
man, pressing the five fingers of his right hand lightly against 
the five fingers of his left. 

^^Why, what^s your opinion, then?^^ said the magistrate, 
suddenly wheeling round his chair and looking the other 
full ill the face. 

^‘That they are very artful, and have told an exceedingly 
plausible story. 

^^PshawT^ said Sir John. ^^You haven^t a bit of faith in 
anything, Nickham.^'' 

^^l^ot in many things. Sir John,^^ said Mr. Kickham, as 
if he considered it rather a laudable characteristic. ^‘But 
just look at the impossibility of the thing, my good sir. 
Here is the Hereford silver, with the family crest and mono- 
gram still on it 

‘‘Because we happened to lay hold of it through superior 
good fortune before, instead of after it had found its way to 
the melting-pot,^' interrupted the magistrate. 

“Exactly so — the Hereford silver carried by two little 
girls — mere babies to look at. Now, do you suppose if they 
hadn^t been old hands this Margery Meiklebren would ever 
have trusted to them in this sort of way ? Do you suppose 
this girl would have lain still in a barn under such suspicions 
circumstances as she details? Not a bit of it. Wouldn^t it 
have been natural to rouse the neighbors — to give the alarm? 
Vo, no; depend upon it she's in the very thick of it, with 
11 her innocent looks, and the other^s just as bad. Why, 
Me very smooth, straightforward story she tells is enough to 
convince me. An innocent child would be frightened out 
of her senses in a place like this. This one is as composed 
as if she were in her own home. Depend upon it. Sir John, 
she^s an old hand."^^ 

“She never has been here before, interposed Sir John 
Lavely, wrinkling up his brows in an acute angle of per- 
plexity. 

“All the more credit to her duplicity. Fve no doubt she 
has richly deserved it a score of times. 

But here Rena herself most unexpectedly broke into the 
conversation. 

“You are telling wicked, wicked liesT she burst out; “and 
it isn^t true, and I hate you!"^ 


TSM Wli)OWEi) BRIt>E. 45 

girl — little girlT^ interposed Sir John^s warning 
voice, ^^that is not the way to talk to Mr. Nickham.-’^ 

^‘He called me a thief/^ panted Kena, squeezing Aliceas 
hand so vehemently in her excitement that the little thing 
winced with the pain. ‘‘I am not a thief 

^^You must allow us to be the judges of that, if you 
please, said Sir John, dryly. ^^Officer, remove the prison- 
ers!^^ 

^^Are we going to jail?^^ wailed Alice. ^^Oh, Kena! Kena I 
you must not leave me!^^ 

‘^I won't said Rena, resolutely, throwing her arms 
around her sister's neck, and looking with defiant eyes at 
Sir Johns amused countenance, ^‘fll never leave you, 
Allie!" 

^^And you need not," said Sir John, kindly. ^^Don'fc sep- 
arate them, officer — ^they are mere sparrows at best, and I 
don't believe they are criminal, notwithstanding your argu- 
ments, Nickham!" 

And the little girls were led out of court by the police- 
man, whose treatment of them was evidently much modified 
by ^ffiis lordship s plainly expressed opinions. 


46 


THE widowed BmIDE, 


CHAPTEE VI. 

THE COROKER^S IKQUEST. 

The scene of horror and confusion at Glenhampton Castle 
can easier be imagined than described, upon that eventful 
September morning, which dawned so radiantly over 
the charred and smoldering ruins of the ill-fated lodge, 
and sprinkled its baptismal chrism of dew-drops on Arthur 
Hunsworth's dead face, in the tangled fern glade below the 
deer park. 

Lady Glenhampton had just entered the breakfast-room, 
looking slightly pale, from want of sleep on the preceding 
night, yet exquisitely lovely. 

She was moving in her slow, graceful way across the room 
to a window which commanded a glimpse of a beautiful 
ornamental lake, now dotted with white swans, which were 
Ernest Evelyn’s especial favorites, when the door opposite 
was thrown open, and Mrs. Wadesleigh, the housekeeper, 
rushed in, with uplifted hands, and a face of unspeakable 
terror. 

^^Oh, my lady! my lady!” she gasped, ^^they said I was to 
prepare you, but 

Lady Glenhampton grew ghastly pale, pressing her hand 
to her left side, as she advanced a pace or two, holding to 
the mullion of the window for support. 

^‘The children!” broke from her white lips. ^^Oh, what 
has happened to them? For the sake of Heaven, do not 
keep me longer in suspense!” 

^‘They’re safe, my lady, bless their dear little hearts — it 
isn’t them at all,” answered Mrs. Wadesleigh; ‘^but, oh, my 
lady, poor, dear Miss Clive, she as was to have been mar- 
ried to-morrow ” 

^^Tell me, Wadesleigh,” passionately burst forth Lady 
Glenhampton, ^^is she ill? is she — dead?” 

^Tt’s Mr. Hunsworth, my lady — he’s been found mur- 
dered in the glen just beyond the" deer park, and Miss Clive 
was the one as found him.” 

Where is she?” Lady Glenhampton’s face was whiter 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


47 


than the wall, as she stood there. ^^How did it happen? 
Whose hand did the deed? Quick! Tell me more!^^ 

It was not necessary, for, through the half-open door of the 
breakfast-room, her startled eyes could see the dead weight 
laid upon a shutter, and covered with sheets, carried into the 
softly carpeted corridor, which led into the south garden, 
and Miss Clivers insensible figure borne after; and before 
Mrs. Wadesleigh could interfere, the countess had rushed 
past her, and was holding Antonians white face to her 
bosom. 

^‘Oh, my poor, poor darling she murmured, ^^my 
wounded dove, it were better to have stricken you dead at 
once! Antonia! Antonia! speak to me! Oh, blessed 
Heaven with a despairing thrill of anguish in her tone, 
^^she does not know ineT 

^^And it^s a great blessing, my lady, that she doesnT,^^ 
Mrs. Wadesleigh interposed. ^‘The worst of it will be when 
she comes to again. And now, my lady, donT think Fm 
making too bold, but take an old servant's advice, and go 
back to your room; this is no sight for such as you, and the 
earl will say so, too, when he comes. 

Lady Glenharnpton turned to the head gamekeeper, who 
was directing the men where to lay their ghastly burden. 

‘fHave you told him?^^ she asked, almost inaudibly. 

‘‘My lord met us at the low'er gate, my lady,^^ the man 
answered, and Lady Glenharnpton allowed herself to be led 
back into the breakfast-room. 

Meanwhile Lord Glenharnpton had paused to speak with 
Martin Valpy, the bailiff, who had imparted to him the 
conjecture, magnified into fact by the mute witnesses which 
had been already exhumed from the ruins of the fire, that 
human life had been sacrificed in the fall of the old lodge 
walls! 

The earl listened in silence, with folded arms and droop- 
ing head, the greenish shade of pallor, which crept over his 
features being the only index to his feelings. He stood 
motionless a moment or two, after Martin had finished his 
tale, and then only broke the silence by saying: 

“The hand of Fate! — ay, neither more nor less thau the 
hand of Fate! There is a blight hanging over this ill-omened 
spot — an evil cloud, which thrives on blood only! Nothing 
but ruin and desolation ever came near this fated house. 
My best friend lies murdered almost wdth in the shadow of 


48 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


my roof -tree; the girl, who is like an inmate of my homv, 
is a widowed bride; nay, the very stranger, who seeks with 
his little ones, a night's rest within the proscribed walls of 
Glenhampton, dies an awful death, as if the elements them- 
selves were in conspiracy against us! When — when will it 
all end?’' 

Martin Valpy listened in respectful silence. It was quite 
evident that Lord Glenhampton was unaware that his 
troubled thoughts had taken voice and sound. 

^‘My lord!" he said, at length, took the liberty to 
order the — the remains to be taken to the steward's house, 
and when the inquest is held at the castle — — " 

^^Yes, you were quite right, Martin," Lord Glenhampton 
said, hurriedly. ‘^Poor wretches! why did not instinct bid 
them go elsewhere for so poor a boon as a night's shelter?" 

And he turned abruptly, and went into the long avenue 
leading to the rose gardens. 

Old Martin looked after him, with a mournful shake of 
the head. 

‘^He's a broken man," muttered the bailiff, twisting a 
branch of larch round and round his mechanically busy fin- 
ger. ^^And I can remember him such a bonny lad, with 
eyes that laughed out at you whenever he spoke, and feet 
that fairly danced over the green turf instead of walking. 
Well, well, we must all change; but it somehow seems harder 
when the heaviness and grief come before their time. 'No 
one fails to grieve when the old tree is cut down; but when 
the lightning blasts the stately young pine, one can't choose 
but wonder at the ways of Providence. 

Lord Glenhampton kept on his way the while, alike un- 
conscious of and indifferent to the criticisms or opinions of 
those who surrounded him, and entered the castle by a side- 
door at the north entrance. A servant sat dozing in an 
arm-chair by the hall table. He started as the earl's foot- 
steps crossed the threshold." 

Where have they put Lord Glenhampton asked, 
briefly. 

^Hn the big room at the foot of the east tower, my lord," 
the man answered. 

^A¥hy did they choose that room?" the earl questioned, 
half as if he were speaking to himself. 

was Boylsford's orders, my lord," said the man; ^^he 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


49 


said it was separate like from the rest of the house^ ai)' 
wouldn’t be like to annoy the family so much/’ 

But Lord Glenhampton passed on, without seeming to 
hear the last words. 

Toward one or two o’clock several of the gentlemen of the 
neigborhood, some of whom had never entered the precincts 
of Glenhampton before, assembled in one of the gloomy 
Gothic parlors opening from the main room of the eastern 
tower, for the purpose of holding the ^^inquests,” while, side 
by side, upon a long table in the echoing and unfurnished 
apartment beyond, lay the corpse of Arthur Hunsworth 
and the few ghastly relics which had been brought up from 
the scene of the fire. 

With reference to these last but little information could 
be gained, and a verdict of accidental death, by fire, was 
rendered. 

The chief witness in the case of Mr. Arthur Hunsworth 
was the unfortunate man’s clerk, Theodore Poynings. He 
was a handsome, smooth-spoken young man of six or seven- 
and-twenty, with very white teeth, a gentle voice, and dark 
eyes that would have been very handsome had it not been 
for a sinister cast in one of them, almost impei’ceptible at 
times, but becoming faintly prominent when he was a little 
annoyed or excited. Mr. Poynings gave his evidence in a 
straightforward manner, merely detailing the habits of the 
murdered man, and the fact that he had visited his office on 
the night of the murder at about eight o’clock, when the 
witness noticed that he appeared flushed and excited. 

Other witnesses were examined, but nothing material was 
elicited further than that the fatal blow must have been 
struck from behind with a sharp instrument like a dagger, 
and that the assassin was probably well acquainted with the 
anatomy of the human frame. 

Miss Clive was present at the inquest, and listened to the 
proceedings with an interest which did not permit her to 
lose a word of the evidence. 

The motive for the deed remained as totally obscure as 
ever. It could scarcely have been for greed of lucre, for 
Mr. Hunsworth’s expensive gold watch, with its heavily 
wrought chain, and his pocket-book, containing both 
money and valuable papers, were untouched, as well as the 
rings, pins, and sleeve-buttons he wore, all of no inconsid- 
erable value in their way. 


50 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


The verdict was what might naturally have been looked 
for — that Arthur Armsby Hunsworth had come to his death 
at the hand of some person or persons unknown. 

In the silence that followed the slowly enunciated words. 
Miss Clive rose to her feet and spoke in a low, passion- 
chilled voice. 

^^And is this all that you have to say? Do you mean to 
tell me, gentlemen, that you will let a human creature be 
foully murdered in your midst and raise no finger to detect 
his destroyer or avenge his death? Are you men, with pity- 
ing hearts in your bosoms, or are you stocks and stones? He 
was your friend — he moved in your midst but yesterday, the 
strongest and noblest of you all — will you let him lie un- 
heeded in his bloody grave? Is human life of so little ac- 
count in your eyes as this? and such a life as liis^ Oh, were 
/ but a man, the deepest depth of the sea should not hide 
his murderer — the most obscure cavern of the mountains 
should atford no shelter for him. The mark of Cain is on 
his brow — sooner or later it will be divulged to our watching 
eyes. Is Arthur Hunsworth to be forgotten 

^^My dear young lady,^'’ began Mr. Pangloss, one of the 
jurors, “if it were possible 

^'Possible — possible P she echoed, mockingly. tell you 
all things are possible to those who have will, and courage, 
and purpose. He shall be avenged! I swear it here with 
my right hand lifted to Heaven, I will trace out his mur- 
derer, and my hand shall deal the bolt of vengeance, since 
you are all so lax and cowardly. Let him flee whither he 
will, he shall not escape me — I will follow him, even were it 
to the gates of the grave. I will follow him and be avenged! 
My life shall be a sacrifice on the altar of his dear memory. 
I renounce all else. I cast off all other restraining ties. 
Before Heaven I swear it!^^ 

Her voice, low and intense, had fallen almost to a whisper 
— her eyes blazed as if with some bidden fire — and she would 
have fallen if Lady Clenliampton had not caught her in her 
arms. 

There were two funerals from St. Hilda^s Church the 
next niglit — Mr. HnnswortliX followed by hosts of friends, 
all mourning over his sudden death, and lost in conjecture 
as to whose hand had struck tlie fatal blow, and that of- a 
few charred remains without name or regret. 

But, drearier and tnore desolate than any coffin’s corpse 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


51 


was Antonia Clive, sitting all alone in the room where lay 
her bridal robe with the clond-like vail and wreath of 
orange flowers, and such a look in her white, set face as 
made Lady Clenhampton shudder as she saw it. 

Alone — and revenge! Those were the two vague threads 
of consciousness that filled her whole existence now. 


52 


tBE Widowed duide. 


CHAPTER VIL 

WYKEKHAM REFUGE. 

Rena and Alice Mordaunt had been sitting in the dreary 
anteroom of the London police-court somewhat more than 
an hour, although the time appeared infinitely longer to 
them, when they were once more summoned into Sir John 
Lavely^s presence. 

^‘Well, my little girls, said the magistrate, kindly, 
have concluded to send you 

^‘Not to prison, sir!^^ gasped Rena, as he paused an in- 
stant, and Alice fixed her blue eyes eagerly on the wrinkled 
face. 

^''Noy not to prison — because I really donT think you have 
wittingly done anything to deserve such a fate as that — but 
to the Wykenham Refuge. 

^^WhaPs that, sir?^’ asked Rena, innocently. 

^^Well, iPs a place that is provided for just such as you — 
homeless little girls, my dear. Youdl be well provided and 
cared for, and I know a kind lady who will keep her eye on 
you. Shall you like that?^^ 

^T"d rather go away, sir,^^ said Rena, frankly. 

dare say,^' said Sir John, rubbing his nose and smil- 
ing; ^‘but that isnT advisable under the circumstances.'^ 

‘‘Alice must go too.^'' 

“Yes, Alice shall go too,^^ nodded Sir John, kindly. “We 
wonT have you separated — at present at least. 

He spoke a word or two to an attendant, in a low voice, 
patted the children’s heads, and bade them “good-by and 
good-speed,^’ and presently they found themselves in a curi- 
ous sort of vehicle, curtained all around, and totally desti- 
tute of springs, jolting along the London streets. 

The Wykenham Refuge for Homeless and Destitute Girls 
was a huge, red brick building, sprinkled irregularly with 
shutterless windows, which seemed to wink like innumer- 
able eyes in the level sunshine, and situated in one of the 
least inviting of the suburbs of London. Of foliage or 
shrubbery there was absolutely none — the very grass, where 


tbe widowed bride. 


53 


it was not trodden out in arid patches of clayey soil, was 
burned and yellow, and the high wall of gray stone that 
surrounded the building was devoid of vine, creeper, or 
aught that might tend to soften the stern angularity of its 
shape. 

don^t like this house, whispered Alice, clinging to 
Eena^s hand. ‘^Let us go away from here, sister. It seems 
as if I couldn^t breathe in this place. 

But the appearance of the matron, a plump, good-natured 
little woman in black, who kissed the children, and cud- 
dled them close up to her, in a motherly sort of way, recon- 
ciled Alice to the high wall and dreary yard. 

^Toor little things,^^ said Mrs. Mar, glancing over the 
note which was handed in with the new comers. ^^Alice 
and Kena, eh! Sisters — yes, so I supposed; there/s a sort 
of a family likeness about the nose and mouth. Sir John 
sends ^em, does he! Well, Sir John^s a kind gentleman as 
ever lived. Come on, my dears, come in and see the other 
little girls.^^ 

“Are there many here, ma^rm?^' asked Rena, timidly. 

“Only three and thirty just now, but we generally have 
more at this season. 

She opened the door into a large, low-ceiled room, with 
windows opening on the yard, where a number of sickly 
looking little girls were sitting, standing or running around. 
At the click of the door-latch they all stopped in their re- 
spective occupations and stared at the new-comers. 

“This is the play-room, said Mrs. Mar. “Run along, 
dears, and get acquainted.'^ 

She shut the door again and disappeared, as if taking it 
for granted that assimilation would be an easy task to the 
little strangers. But the girls all stood and gazed stead- 
fastly, circling round Alice and Rena, as a company of barn- 
yard fowls might stand and stare at a pair of curious foreign 
birds suddenly introduced into their domains. Rena returned 
the gaze with interest, but Alice, more timid and less self- 
sustained, burst into tears. 

“What^s she a-cryin^ for?’^ demanded a tall, awkward girl 
of thirteen, touching Alice, as if half doubtful whether she 
were not made of sugar or glass. 

“Kone of your business, answered Rena, succinctly. 
^‘Let her alone. 


64 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


-I uin^t a touching of her/^ was the sulky response. 
oig cry-baby! Fd be ushamedT^ 

A derisive laugh rose up among the girls. Eena lookc 
round at them with flashing eyes. 

be ashamed to langh at strange girls/^ she said, with 
an indignant choking in her voice. Youh’e a mean, hate- 
ful lot, and I won^t speak to any of you.^^ 

One of the most mischievously inclined of the crowd 
caught hold of a fluttering remnant of Eena^s torn frock, 
just as she uttered this deflance and jerked it away. 

said she, with a giggle. ^'Dear me, girls, Miss 
Eag-bag-and-bobtail won^t speak to none on us! Ain’t it a 
pity.'" 

Eena faced short round on her tormentress, and made a 
snatch at the captured stream of faded calico. 

^^Give it to me,^^ she sputtered wrathfully. ^‘It^s mine."^^ 

The girl made a clumsy effort to evade her grasp, and in 
doing so fell against Alice, and nearly overthrew her. Alice 
cried right away, and Eena, more incensed by far on her 
sister^s behalf than she had been on her own, flew at the 
tall girl, and grappled with her furiously. 

“Mur-r-der,’"' squeaked the appalled victim, ^qnur-r-der! 
Shea’s a killen’ of me! Em a-hein’ strangled P’ 

And Mrs. Mar, opening the door at the same moment, 
stood in astonishment and displeasure, while a dozen shrill 
voices piped up, in answer to her stern ^‘What is the mean- 
ing of this?^^ 

“Please, ma^am, Mary Ann Jones wasnT a doin^ nothin^, 
and she just flewed at her aiP most choked her to death. 

Poor Eena! the first impression she succeeded in making 
had been far from a favorable one. 

“IPs a lie!^’ she cried, with more emphasis than elegance 
of expression. “She tore my frock and knocked Alice 
over, and — and I hate her, so I do."’"’ 

A dispassionate cross-examination of the small witnesses 
who had beheld the origin of the affray, convinced Mrs. 
Mar that the elflsh looking new-comer had been more 
sinned against than sinning, and the two little girls were 
taken to the matron^s own room to have some supper, a 
bath, and an assignment of new clothing in place of the 
wretched rags they wore. 

“I donT want this old gray frock,’^ said Alice, distrust- 
fully eying the respectable ^ uniform gown" laid out for 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


55 


her. want a white dress with blue ribbons, and bron?^ 
boots like the little girls I saw in the street.’^ 

‘^'Mydear/^ said Mrs. Mar, remonstratingly, white dresses 
•ind blue ribbons are only for rich little girls. 

^‘1 want to be a rich little girl,^^ said Alice, piteously, 
vhile Eena skipped about in her new garb, delighted with 
its comfortable and decent cleanliness. Mrs. Mar looked 
at her, as she stood there, smiling and flushed from her 
recent bath, the dark hair curling in damp rings away from 
her brow, and her eyes shining like wells of dark water, and 
could not but acknowledge to herself that she was very 
pretty, for a ‘^diomeless waif.^^ 

‘‘rm glad you happened to be here before ^ visiting day,/ 
she said, half speaking to herself; ^‘^the girls weVe got just 
now are such a plain-looking set, and Mrs. Heneage likes 
pretty girls. 

“What is visiting day?^^ asked Eena. ^^And who is Mrs. 
Heneage 

“It'S the day the lady patronesses come around, my dear,^^ 
said Mrs. Mar. “I wonder if your hair wouldn^t curl, to 
twist it round your finger, after it’s been wet; and the Hon- 
orable Mrs. Heneage is Lord Barrowfield’s sister, the lady 
that does the most for us. Dear heart, Allie, how you are 
yawning. Well, well, I suppose you’re tired and want to 
go to bed.^'’ 

“ Where is our room, ma^am?^’ asked Alice, stifling a sec- 
ond groan. 

“Eoom!’^ echoed Mrs. Mar. ^AYhy, what is the child 
talking about? You doAt have a room. Ask Eliza, the 
dormitory girl, to put you in ISTo. 89. There, run along, 
children; I’ve got my accounts to make up yet to-night.” 

Hos. 89 and 90 were tiny little white beds, each with a 
chair beside it, which was all the privacy “homeless girls” 
were expected either to desire or to deserve. 

“Can’t I get in Eena’s bed?” asked Alice, looking wist- 
fully at her sister’s pillow. 

“Ho, certainly not!” said Eliza, sharply. “One to a bed 
-that’s the dormitory rule!” 

And although Alice sobbed herself to sleep, both the 
children slept well and soundly in the small beds, scarcely 
wider than a. plank, which were allotted to them, and waked 
up in some degree reconciled to their new life. 

_ This especial Saturday happened to be a red-letter day at 


56 


THS WIDOWED BRIDE. 


ihe Wykenham Eefuge, the visiting day for the lady pr 
tronesses, and long before nine o'clock every child was 
washed, combed, and brushed into shining cleanliness, with 
fresh, gray gowns, smoothly ironed check aprons, and 
neatly blacked shoes, and ranged in rows upon their stiff- 
backed seats along the school-room. 

Eena grew very tired, and twisted herself back and forth, 
while Alice sat in mute awe, her little hands folded just as 
she had been bidden, and her cherry lips slightly apart. 
The visitors had been expected at nine o’clock, but it was 
some time after ten when Mrs. Mar, flushed and nervous in 
her black silk dress, ushered in three ladies, elegantly at- 
tired, bringing a scent of ottar of roses with them, and all 
talking at once! 

^^That's the Honorable Mrs. Heneage inthew^hite shawl," 
wdiispered one of the girls to Eena, ^‘and Lady Barrowfleld 
has ffot the long yaller ear-drops. Ain't she dressed beauti- 
ful, though!" 

Mrs. Heneage, a showy, handsome lady of about thirty, 
advanced into the room, laughing, talking and looking 
around her at the girls as if they were rows of tulips, and 
she an amateur gardener! For the idea that these soberly 
attired solemn-faced creatures, could be human like herself 
scarcely seemed to enter into the brain, which was sur- 
mounted by such an elegant French bonnet! 

do think they grow scrawnier every day!" said she, 
elevating her pink-gloved hands. ^^My dear Mrs. Mar, wliy 
is it that our poorer classes are so frightfully plain!" 

Mrs. Mar looked embarrassed. Lady Barrowfleld, a surly 
pale-looking lady whispered: 

^'Don't speak so loud, Helen, they will hear you!" 

^^Oh, they won't understand!" said Mrs. Heneage. 
never saw' any one yet, who — my goodness gracious — '’ she 
suddenly exclaimed, stopping in front of Eena ^This girl is 
pretty. Who is she, and where did you pick her up?" 

The Honorable Mrs. Heneage was quite right for once. 
Little Eena looked marvelously fair and delicate with her 
dark curls and soft hazel eyes, and the sweet pea-like bloom 
upon her cheeks, which deepened into carmine as the hon- 
orable lady put up her eye-glass, as though she was staring 
at some choice picture. 

"‘Sir John Lavely sent her here," Mrs. Mar answered; 
“and her name is Eena Mordaunt!" 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


57 


^^Come here^ you pretty little thing, and give me a kiss!^"' 
cried Mrs. Heneage, ecstatically; and Eena with the envi- 
ous eyes of all the other three-and-thirty girls upon her, 
advanced, confused and embarrassed, to touch with her fresh 
dewy lips the cheek of the Honorable Mrs. Heneage. 

This little incident settled Kena MordaunVs standing in 
the Wykenham Kefuge. Mrs. Heneage had kissed her, 
and noticed her specially, and the little populace there, like 
the average one of the outer world, was quick to take the 
one given by the gracious hand of aristocracy. There 
was no more insult, mockery, no more covert neglect, the 
girls clustered around Kena in an admiring throng as the 
Honorable Mrs. Heneage, Lady Barrowfield, and Mrs. Col- 
onel Cluny were led away on an inspecting tour to the dor- 
mitory, refectory, and play-room. 

‘H wish I was you, Kena!"^ cried Mary Ann Jones. 

^^AiiTt she dressed like the queen!” chimed in another. 
^‘Did yon see them bracelets around her wrists? Wasn't 
you pleased, Rena Mordaunt?” 

tasted the powder on her face," said Rena, with a 
grimace. ^^She isn't a bit pretty, and I don't want to kiss 
her again." 

^‘La! do hear her talk?" said Mary Ann. ^‘Why, 
ain't she the Honorable Mrs. Heneage, as keeps fourteen 
servants? Mary Ellis, as used to be here once, is under 
laundry-maid there, and she says they do have things ele- 
gant, and more money than they know how to spend." 

‘‘Let's go and play ball," said Rena, recklessly. “We 
don't have to sit still any longer, do we?" 

“The lady visitors might come back," said Mary Ann, 
smoothing the gathers in her apron, “and " 

At this moment Mrs. Mar opened the door, looking red- 
der and more excited than ever. 

“Rena, my dear, come here," said she, eagerly. “Upon 
my word, you are in good luck!" 

Rena obeyed the beckoning motion of her finger, albeit 
with a somewhat bewildered air. 

“Should you like to be a lady, my dear?” said Mrs. Mar, 
leading her triumphantly away. “The Honorable Mrs. 
Heneage wishes to adopt you!" 

And before Rena could realize what was meant by the 
matron's words she found herself in the august presence of 
the great lady herself. 


68 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


It was quite true. The Honorable Mrs. Heneage, whosr 
whims had all her life-time been humored, and who bough, 
every long cashmere shawl, diamond set, or pony-phaeton 
that she happened to fancy, on the spot, had bethought 
herself that a bright-eyed little playmate would be not un- 
acceptable to lighten the aristocratic gloom of her childless 
home, and Eena s pretty face had put the idea into her 
head. 

^^Come here, my pretty one,^^ said Mrs. Heneage, draw- 
ing Eena close to her, ^^and tell me if you wouldn't like to 
be my little girl?^^ 

^M3ut I am not your little girl,^^ expostulated Eena. 

^^But I can make you so, if I please, said Mrs. Heneage, 
patting the silky, down-drooping head. “Would you like 
to come with me, and wear elegant dresses every day, and 
ride in my carriage, and gather flowers in my garden, and 
have all the money to spend that you wanted?^' 

“Yes,^^ said Eena, slowly: “\i 

“Yes, ma^am,^^ prompted Mar, in a sort of stage whisper. 

Mrs. Heneage turned sharply around. 

“DonT be putting those charity-child conventionalities in 
her head, I beg of you,^^ she said, with asperity. “Tell me, 
my little blossom,^'’ with her lips touched to the child’s 
glowing cheek, “would you like to go wdth me?’’ 

“If All ie goes, too,” pronounced Eena, courageously. 

“Who-does she mean? Who is Allie?” asked Mrs. Hene- 
age, looking at the matron. 

“It’s her little sister, ma’am, that came here with her, 
and sat next to her,” answered Mrs. Mar. 

“That faded little thing, with the red hair and the color- 
less eyes?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Honsense!” said Mrs. Heneage, authoritatively. ^T 
can’t adopt the whole of AYykenham Eefuge. I want you, 
child, and nobody else.” 

“Won’t you take Allie, too?” wistfully asked Eena, look- 
ing up into Mrs. Heneage’s eyes. 

‘‘Certainly not.” 

“Then I won’t go,” said Eena, resolutely. “I won’t leave 
Allie!” 

Mrs. Heneage appealed to the matron. 

“Does the child know what nonsense she is talking, Mrs. 


THE WIDOWED BBIDE. 


59 


Mar?^^ she asked, petulantly. ^‘Put up her things at once; 

I shall take her with me.^' 

said Kena, with anger-sparkling eyes, ^^you shall 
not! I will not go with you! Pll stay with AllieT^ 

^‘My dear,^^ soothed Mrs. Heneage, more attracted than 
ever by the child^s beauty, heightened as it was by her tem- 
pest of infantile wrath, ^^youdon^t know how happy you will 
be. ril buy you all the toys and picture-books you want, 
and 

don^’t want your toys and picture-books!"^ interrupted 
Eena. want my sister Allie! ISTo — no — no! I won"t go 
with you! I say I won"t!"" 

The Honorable Mrs. Heneage sat confounded. That a 
charity child should be insane enough to repel her gracious 
otfers to open to her what might well seem the gates of Ely- 
sium, appeared quite incredible to her. 

^T donTat all comprehend this, Mrs. Mar,"" she said, com- 
pelled to release Kena"s struggling hand. think the dis- 
cipline you maintain, or rather fail to maintain here, must 
be exceedingly defective."" 

“The child hasn"t been here twenty-four hours yet, 
ma"am,"" apologized Mrs. Mar, humbly, ^^and Pm sure I am 
very sorry she is so naughty. Kena, my dear, I don"t think 
you understand what it is that you are refusing. Mrs. 
Heneage is kind enough to offer to take you for her own 
. little girl,"" 

don’t like her!"" cried the incensed Kena, stamping on 
the ground, a provokingly pretty little Fury. won’t go 
and live with her and leave Allie! She’s old and ugly, and 
I hate her!” 

So the gates of a social Elysium, so far as Mrs. Heneage 
was concerned, were shut upon our little heroine. The lady 
patron went home in a rage. Mrs. Mar was sorely mor- 
tified by the unbridled expression of the honorable lady’s 
displeasure, and poor Kena spent the rest of the day in soli- 
tary confinement, with bread and water to assist her peni- 
tential reflections. 

hope you are sorry now,” said Mrs. Mar, as she came 
at night to release the small culprit. 

^‘^No, I’m not!” resolutely declared Kena. ^T"m not sorry 
one bit. I like you,’’ with a sudden hug round the unsus- 
pecting matron’s neck, “but I don’t like the tall lady, and 
I won’t be her little girl,” 


bu THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 

don^fc know what to do with you, I am sure/^ sighed 
Mrs. Mar^ feeling painfully that she ought to be vexed, and 
yet quite unable to summon up the necessary degree of in- 
dignation. 

•'^Let me go and play/^ suggested Kena; ^^Fm so tired of 
staying here, and I want to see Allie.**^ 

But Rena Mordaunt^s unwise frankness, although it had 
angered the Honorable Mrs. Heneage past all chance of rec- 
onciliation, had yet gained her another and a powerful 
friend, of whom she as yet knew nothing. 

Lady Barrowfield, who had sat a silent witness to the 
whole scene, went home to her husband and put her slen- 
der, pretty arm around his neck, as he sat at a table look- 
ing over a heap of Parliamentary Blue-Books. 

‘^Well, little one,^^ he said, glancing up somewhat ab- 
stractedly, ^^what do you want now?^^ 

‘^Theset of oriental topazes that you promised me, Her- 
bert 

know,^'’ he interrupted, ^^and Pm ready to give a check 
at any time.^^ 

^'But I don’t want the jewels, Herbert; I would rather in- 
vest the money *in another way.’' 

^Hn what way, Clemence?” he asked, gravely, and she sat 
closer at his side, looking with a soft, pleading glance into his 
eyes. 

want it to advance the future of two homeless little 
girls whom I saw at the Refuge to-day.” 

^Hf they are received into the Refuge, they are provided 
for already.” 

^^Yes, as housemaids, or 6ooks, or upper-servants; but 
these little creatures seem to be worthy of a better fu- 
ture.” 

And she described the incident which had occurred in the 
matron's room that day, while Lord Barrowfield interrupted 
her to laugh heartily at the discomfiture of the Honorable 
Mrs. Heneage. 

^'That’s just like Eleanor,’' he said. ‘Hf she wanted a 
lunar rainbow, she would think she ought to have it pro- 
duced for her at once, on her own terms. So the little 
sprite wouldn't consent to be adopted, eh? Well, I must 
say that I like her spirit. But what do you want to do about 
it?” 

‘^You will call it a mere fancy, Herbert,” Lady Barrow- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


61 


field answered, coaxing! y, ^‘but I think I should like to take 
those two pretty little girls out of the Eefuge and place them 
somewhere where their own efforts may raise them into a re- 
spectable position/^ 
my expense 

^^At the expense of the oriental topaz set/’ laughed his 
wife. 

^'Well, my dear, I don’t see why your whim should not 
be humored even if Eleanor Heneage’s is not,’’ said Lord 
Barrowfield. ^‘What shall I do for the little independ- 
ents?” 

‘‘1 should like to put them into Miss Hartford’s school at 
Hampstead.” 

^‘My dear! why that’s the very hot-bed of juvenile aris- 
tocracy and refined young ladyhood.” 

^‘That is the very atmosphere I desire for my half-opened 
rosebuds. Miss Hartford will educate them for governesses, 
or companions, or something of that sort, to perfection. 
'No one need know that they came from Wykenham Eef- 
uge, and they will, at least, be supplied with suitable 
weapons with which to fight the battle of their lonely young 
lives.” 

^^But I can’t understand why you have taken such a fancy 
to them, Clemence,’' said Lord Barrowfield. 

‘^Nor I, scarcely; only that they are so little and help- 
less, and there is something so pathetic in their clinging af- 
fection for each other. You do not object to my plan, Her- 
bert?” 

^‘Hot a particle, my dear,” said Lord Barrowfield. ^^It 
seems to me rather a Utopian idea, but I am willing to in- 
dulge you in it, more especially as you don’t often treat me 
to a caprice of that kind.” 

“You are the darlingest husband alive!” cried Lady 
Barrowfield, rewarding her liege lord with half a dozen 
kisses. 

Lady Barrowfield was thoroughly in earnest when once 
she set about the prosecution of a plan. And the moon, 
then in the slender crescent of its silver glory, was not fairly 
past the full when Miss Hartford, of Hartford Lodge, in a 
retired part of Hampstead, received into her aristocratic 
^^Establishment for Young Ladies” two little girls, brought 
thither under the auspices of no less distinguished a lady 
t-han the Baroness Barrowfield, and entered on the academi- 


62 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


cal books under the respective nomenclatures of Kena and 
Alice Percival; for Lady Barrowfield judged it best that 
they should begin their new lives with a new name, and her- 
self selected the appellation. 

can^t remember/’ said Miss Hartford, toying with the 
eye-glasses that hung at the end of a slender gold chain 
round her neck, ‘^that her ladyship mentioned to me the 
exact degree of relationship, but I am under the impression 
that our new pupils are distantly connected with Lady Bar- 
rowfield’s own family.'’^ 

^^Dear me/^ said Miss Trowbridge, the dumpy English 
governess, ^hs it possible? But I think I should have rec- 
ognized their gentle blood in their faces. I can always rec- 
ognize the aristocratic type of lineament, and it is quite un- 
mistakable in these Misses Percival.'’^ 

And Miss Trowbridge really believed what she said. 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


6 ? 


CHAPTER VIIL 
MISS cheritok's elopement. 

Life at the fashionable boarding-school at Hampstead 
glided by with a gentle current, which was as new as it was 
delicious to the young creatures, whose stream of existence 
hitherto had been so full of peril and restless change. Both 
partook in some degree of the impulsive, affectionate tem- 
perament which is sure to endear others and win the coldest 
heart with a sort of magnetic attraction. Both accordingly 
grew to be the popular favorites of the school, miniature 
queens, rulers in the petty world which surrounded them. 

As often as once a year Lady Barrowfield herself came to 
visit her little protegees, until her death, which occurred 
when Rena was about fifteen. They first learned of the 
melancholy occurrence through Miss Hartford, who sent for 
the sisters into her private reception-room, to impart to them 
the sorrowful tidings, with her handkerchief held decorously 
to her eyes. 

*T)ead! Lady Barrowfield dead cried Rena, in aston- 
ishment, while Alice stood by silently. 

^‘My dear, we are all partakers of the doom of mortality,^^ 
sighed Miss Hartford, ^'and her ladyship^’s health has been 
painfully delicate for years. I sympathize with you deeply, 
my darling girls, for^ 

^^But what are we going to do?^^ broke in Rena, abruptly, 
for at that moment she felt as if the mainstay of her own 
young life were drawn suddenly away. She had grown, 
almost unconsciously, to depend upon Lady Barrowfield, to 
feel as if, in a measure, she had some claim upon the pale, 
sweet-faced lady who had turned the current of her destiny 
with her Jeweled hand. 

"T was going to tell you, my dear/^ said Miss Hartford. 
^^Her ladyship left directions in her will that you and your 
sister should be continued here until the age of nineteen, at 
which time you will graduate.^’ 

^Tt was very kind of her,^^ said Rena, wistfully, and she 
listened mechanically to Miss Hartford ^s string of platitudes 
that followed on the loss of their ^‘dear relative. 


64 


THE WIDOWED DBIDE. 


^‘We are not in any way related to Lady Barrowfield/' 
said Rena, turning suddenly round. 

^‘Not related to her!^^ echoed Miss Hartford. 

‘‘HoT^ Rena answered, curtly. 

^"But I thought 

can^t help what you thought, said Rena, resolutely. 
^^We are no relatives whatever to Lady Barrowfield. Come, 
Alice, the French professor must be here already, and we 
have not even thought of our exercises.’^ 

The other girls were all curiosity respecting the sudden 
death of the Misses PercivaFs friend, and the reappearance 
of Rena and Alice in the school-room was a signal for a 
shower of queries. 

^‘Of course you’ll be asked to the funeral?” said Emily 
Darte. ^^My Aunt Helen says it will be something very 
grand.” 

^^Of course she won’t,” said Adela Cheriton, a haughty 
blonde of seventeen, who cordially disliked Rena Percival, 
because nature had endowed her with a larger share of brains 
than she herself was fortunate enough to possess. *"She is no 
relation to Lady Barrowfield!” And then, in a stage whisper, 
purposely intended to be audible, she added, ‘^Mamina 
knows tiie Barrowfields, and she says my lady picked up 
these Percival children somewhere and adopted them. Rela- 
tives! indeed, I wouldn’t give much for their relatives!” 

^‘Wouldn’t you, indeed?” demanded Rena, with a con- 
temptuous pout of her cherry lip. 

^'No, I wouldn’t!” retorted Miss Cheriton, with brighten- 
ing color and scintillating eyes. ^^Some people have a sort 
of managing way that ingratiates them with those who 
aren’t over particular about their associates, but it’s only 
surface- deep!” 

^‘Come, Adela Cheriton,” said Rena, walking composedly 
up to her tall adversary, don’t want any more of this 
nonsense. Speak out plainly, or don’t speak at all —that’s 
my motto. Do you mean me, by ^some people?”’ 

don’t choose to render explanations to you!” haughtily 
responded Miss Cheriton, a little awed, if the truth must be 
spoken, by Rena’s determined manner. 

^Tf I were a man I would knock you down!” said Rena, 
dauntlessly. 

^^Fortunately you are not!” flashed back Adela Cheriton, 
^^al though I really don’t see why you should hesitate at any- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


65 


thing. I dare say you have been quite accustomed to that 
style of argil ment.^^ 

•'If I touched you at all/' said Kena, elevating her eye- 
brows with provoking command of temper, '*1 should send 
down to the kitchen and borrow a frying-pan or an iron 
skillet to do it with! There^s a correspondence in things. 

This sally produced a universal titter among the girls, as 
it was well-known that Miss Oheriton^s maternal grandfather 
had made his large fortune in the iron trade, beginning with 
the humble avocation of hawking frying-pans from door to 
door. 

Miss Cheriton turned scarlet, her eyes flashed, and her 
heavy lips quivered ominously. 

"Eena Percival,^^ she cried, "I won't be insulted/^ 

'T wouldnT, if I were you!^^ said Eena, audaciously. 

"At 1 east, went on Adela, in a choked voice, rela- 
tives were honest people 

"Dear me!’^ interrupted Eena, "who was talking about 
anybody's relatives? Tm sure I never alluded to any such 
topics.'"' 

"And there are people,^^ added Adela, growing fairly pur- 
ple, "who havenT any at all.^' 

"There are ghosts, and fairies, and brownies, and all sorts 
of unaccountable things, said Eena, with a gay, mocking 
laugh. 

But she felt the envenomed arrow rankle in her breast, 
after all, more especially so, as the tears ran in Aliceas eyes 
as she followed her sister to their own room. 

"DonT mind her, Allie,'^ she whispered, passing her arm 
caressingly round the others shoulders, and laying her cheek 
against Alice's lips. "She's only a quarrelsome, vicious- 
tempered young virago, and nothing more!" 

"She insulted us, Eena." 

"Of course she did; it's her delight to insult people. Who 
minds her? Xow you are crying, Allie, darling. Don't, 
please don't, precious; you wouldn't, if you knew that every 
one of those bright drops hurts me more than a whole dic- 
tionary full of the Cheriton's slanders. I'll teach her to spit 
out her gratuitous insolence to people." 

"What are you going to do, Eena?" 

"I'm going to show her that I am not to be bullied with 
impunity, that's all." 

And Eena burst out merrily laughing. 


66 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


wish you would tell me what you mean, dear, pleaded 

Alice. 

^‘To do just what I have accomplished,^^ laughed Rena. 
^‘Dry those tears and make you smile again. Come, you 
promised to put the blue ribbon hoops on my cape this after- 
noon, and I want to wear it.^^ 

And ‘while Alice’s deft little fingers turned, twisted, and 
adjusted the soft folds of azure ribbon, her sister rummaged 
ill the old portfolio, which contained their literary belong- 
ings. 

^‘What are you looking for, Rena?” the younger sister 
asked, carelessly, 

^‘Only my exercise-book,” Rena answered, with a demure 
twinkle in her eyes. ‘Tve found it now!” 

But it was not her exercise-book which she had sought and 
found; it was merely a sheet of written sentences which M. 
Adolphe Lemaire, the French teacher, had given her a 
month ago to work into compositions, the better to accus- 
tom herself to the foreign idioms and phrases. 

M. Adolphe Lemaire was a tall, sentimental-looking 
Frenchman, with liquid dark eyes, a silky jet mustache, and 
features as correctly chiseled as a cameo. Add to this the 
fact that he was only six or seven-and-twenty, with chival- 
rous manners, full of dignity and reserve, and a romantic 
story of ancient descent and blighted circumstance, and it 
will scarcely be marveled at that half the demoiselles at 
Hartford Lodge professed an adoration for Monsieur Le- 
maire. 

Miss Cheriton, in particular, took no pains to conceal her 
admiration for the dark-eyed Gascon, but openly treasured a 
faded moss rosebud which had once fallen from the young 
professor’s button-hole, and declared she would give half she 
owned in the world for a Icck of the shining black hair 
which drooped in wavy rings over the young man’s ivory- 
fair forehead. Miss Cheriton was in no way distinguished 
as a scholar, but if she did work hard and conscientiously at 
any one thing it was her French. It signified little to her 
whether or not she was a fool in either respect, but she 
sighed for M. Lemaire’ s softly spoken words of approba- 
tion — a need which, to tell the truth, she was very seldom 
gratified by receiving. 

‘^Still at your French exercise, my dear?” resumed Miss 
Hartford, as she passed through the "study-room that even- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


67 


ing, and saw Eena bending silently over her desk. ^^Eeally, 
you deserve great credit for your industry and persever- 
ance.'’^ 

^‘Eena looked up, the bright pink mantling her cheek. 

^^Monsieur Lernaire is so particular with us/^ she an- 
swered, demurely. 

Adela Gheriton went up to her room that evening to put 
a white rose in among her blonde braids, for Miss Gheriton 
fully appreciated her own full blossomed beauty, and liked 
to heighten it by all manner of artfully applied little acces- 
sories. She was about to take a hair-pin from the embroid- 
ered cushion, on the toilet table, when something white, 
half hidden under the fringe, caught her eye — a letter, 
directed simply ^'To the Blonde Mademoiselle,’^ and with a 
sudden flush of scarlet to her cheek, she recognized the pe- 
culiarly pointed handwriting of Monsieur Adolphe Lernaire. 

Hastily she carried it to the window, where the last crim- 
son tints of sunset yet lingered in the west, affording a suf- 
ficiency of light to decipher the contents of the billet-doux, 
for such it proved. 

A real, genuine love-letter, such as Adela Gheriton, with 
all her romantic proclivities, and novel reading habits, had 
never before perused — a letter breathing ardent affection, 
and expressed in the prettiest and quaintest of English, 
with here and there a French expression woven in, as if the 
Anglo-Saxon language did not contain w*ords warm and ex- 
pressive enough for M. Lemaire’s tender thoughts to em- 
body themselves in. 

Adela^s cheeks glowed, her eyes glittered, and her heart 
throbbed as she read. M. Adolphe Lernaire loved her after 
all; he had lost his ardent young heart to her golden hair, 
and liquid blue eyes. He told her so in language that there 
was no mistaking; he asked her if she could consent to 
allow him to worship directly at her shrine, and enjoined 
again and again the strictest secrecy; for Miss Hartford, as 
he gracefully expressed it, was a ^^slave to conventionalities,’^ 
and his position depended solely upon his own self-com- 
mand, and her discretion, and he closed by hinting that a 
note left in the hollow of an old cherry tree, in the least 
frequented alley of the old-fashioned garden back of the 
house, would be brought straight to him by a messenger 
whom he could trust. 

Adela Gheriton kissed the pink-scented paper over and 


68 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


over again, and sat down to consider the exigencies of this 
new development of her hitherto somewhat monotonous life. 
Was it really true? Could it actually he possible that M. 
Adolphe Lemaire was in love with her? 

Miss Cheriton retired early that night, with a ragiug 
headache, as she said; and Miss Trowbridge, who happened 
to be in charge of the school-room, on that particular even- 
ing, looked at her crimson cheeks, and expressed her fears 
that Miss Cheriton was feverish. 

^‘Do let me call Miss Hartford to give you a little aco- 
nite, she said, ‘^or take a few drops of red lavender in 
in water. 

^^Honsense,'^ said Adela, rudely. Miss Trowbridge was 
stout, and short, and passee, and a dependent, forced to 
work hard for a living, and Miss Cheriton considered it 
quite superfluous to be polite to such people. shahiT do 
any such thing; Fm well enough, only for a headache, and 
I wish youM stop bothering 

So Adela went up stairs, but not to bed. Miss Hartford 
came to her room at ten o^clock, to enforce the regulation 
about the extinguishing of lights in the sleeping apart- 
ments at that hour. 

‘^Hear Miss Hartford,'^ coaxed Adela, who was propped 
up in bed among her pillows, with a portfolio deftly hidden 
under the sheet, and an ink-stand behind the bed-post, 
^^donT please take away the light. Fm so nervous, and I 
fancy all sorts of horrible things in the dark.^^ 

will send Miss Percival in to sleep with you, my dear,^^ 
argued the preceptress. 

^^Oh, donT do that!^^ said Adela, shrugging one white 
shoulder out of her ruffled night-dress, “she would drive 
me frantic! I must always be alone when I have these 
frightful headaches! Dear, kind Miss Hartford, do indulge 
me, just for once.'’^ 

And Miss Hartford indulged her, and the letter, copied 
and recopied, was duly written and posted in the hollow of 
the moss-grown old cherry tree, by Adela^s own hand, the 
pext morning, 

Miss Cheriton blushed and fluttered, and grew as tremu* 
lous as an aspen-leaf that day, when M. Lemaire bent over 
her to correct a glaring mistake in her French composition. 

‘^Pardon, mademoiselle, but you do not comprehend, 


THS WIDOWED BRIDE, 


69 


he said, taking the pencil out of her hand to strike out the 
obnoxious word. 

‘^Oh, I do, monsieur, I do, she faltered, with her big blue 
eyes raised for one instant to his face. Surely — surely, his 
hand had lingered upon hers, with a gentle pressure, as he 
took the pencil away — and she was satisfied. And her fair 
forehead was contracted by a momentary frown, as she saw 
how intently Kena Percival was watching her. 

‘"The envious thing, she thought: “if I only dared to 
tell her.^^ 

For about a week the correspondence went on dashingly, 
at the rate of a note per day, and sometimes more, while 
M. Lemaire, over and over again, enjoined upon his pupil 
the necessity for the utmost caution in school hours, until 
Adela scarcely ventured either to look at or speak to him 
during the hour in which they were together; and, at the 
end of that time, Adela packed her jewels andjove-letters, 
and made stealthy preparations for an elopement, according 
to the proposal hazarded in M. Adolphe’s last missive. 

To the romantic, unreasoning schoolgirl this was an ely- 
sium of delicious mystery and undefined bliss. An elope- 
ment, just exactly like a three-volume novel and with the 
pensively handsome Frenchman, Adela could conceive of no 
more brilliant ending to her school-day life. Of course 
papa and mamma, and Miss Hartford would be horrified — 
elderly people always were — but they would easily reconcile 
themselves to the inevitable when all was over and past rem- 
edy, and Madame Adolph Lemaire could fall so gracefully 
on her knees and plead for pardon in such plaintive phrases! 
Again and again Adela rehearsed the scene over to herself, 
as, having scaled the wall in the starry, luminous darkness 
of the July evening, she stole down the shady lane, at the 
end of which her Adolph had assured her that a carriage 
should be waiting. 

It happened that upon this special day of all others, Rena 
Percival had coaxed Miss Hartford to drive into London. 
Her caps were getting dolefully shabby, Rena declared, and 
Miss Hartford always liked to have Rena help select her 
coiffures, and the lace collars in which the elderly lady^s 
soul delighted “werenT fit to be seenT Miss Hartford was 
rather reluctant to go into town on such a broiling day, but 
Rena was always accustomed to getting her own way, and 
she got it this time. Now, so skillfully did Rena arrange 


70 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


her times and seasons^ that the carriage drove slowly np the 
lane, just as Adela, wrapped in a dark shawl to blend her 
figure as much as possible with the surrounding objects, 
glided down its shadowy way. Suddenly Eena pulled the 
check-string. 

^‘Stop a minute, George, she whispered to the coachman. 
“I believe Fve dropped my handkerchief.^^ 

The carriage came to a stand-still. Eena stealthily opened 
the door, and Adela Cheriton sprang in, exclaiming almost 
hysterically: 

^"Adolphe! dear Adolphe 

Miss Hartford screamed with terror. Eena received the 
full weight of the bouncing blonde in her lap. 

^^ What does all this mean?^^ sternly dem.anded the usually 
indulgent preceptress. ‘^Oan it be possible that this is you. 
Miss Cheriton? And why are you screaming after ^Adolphe^? 
Where is he?’^ and she looked around in a bewildered way. 

‘‘He loves me; we are to be married ; he promised to elope 
with me!’^ gasped Adela, scarcely knowing, in her confusion, 
what she was saying. 

“Who?^^ questioned Miss Hartford, half-inclined to doubt 
the evidence of her own sense of hearing. 

“M. Lemaire — my own, own Adolphe!’^ 

“N^onsense!^^ slowly ejaculated Miss Hartford. 

“It isnT nonsense, iFs the gospel- truthP^ asserted Adela, 
growing more and more hysterical and incoherent. “You 
think you can bind love in iron fetters; you set too much 
value on the meaningless forms and ceremonies of a cruel 
world. His heart is all mine; I am willing to trust my 
future solely and entirely to him. Let me get out, I say! 
you have no right to stop me!^^ 

She struggled violently to escape from Miss Hartford^s 
detaining hands. 

“My dear, my dear!^’ said the poor lady; “there is some 
mistake here. M. Lemaire is engaged to a young French 
lady who gives lessons at the Fricandiere Institute.'’^ 

“It is false!” cried Adela, theatrically. “I have his dear 
letters here — see!” and she held them full in the glare of 
the carriage-lamps. 

“I am afraid I must answer in some degree for that non- 
sense,” said Eena, with well-assumed gravity and perplex- 
ity. “M. Lemaire has never seen one of those letters, much 
Jess written them, I wrote them just for fun. I never 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


71 


supposed but that it was equally a joke on your part to re- 
ply to them_, Miss Cheriton. Is it possible that you really 
supposed M. Adolphe Lemaire had fallen in love with you 

Before the next day^s sun had set, the story of Adela 
Cheriton^s elopement with nobody was known throughout 
the school. M. Adolphe Lemaire himself had evidently 
gleaned some inkling of the ridiculous occurrence, or the 
girls fancied he had; at all events, there was a sparkle of 
amusement in his dark eyes, as he read them a ^^dictation 
lesson/^ which was not accounted for by any humorous bent 
in the author he had selected to read from. Adela herself 
was really sick in bed from rage, disappointment, and morti- 
fication, and Eena Percival went to inquire after her with 
ostentatious solicitude. 

owe all of this to you, miss,^^ said 'Adela, biting her 
lip, and clenching her hand until the blood stood in dark 
blue dots under every nail; ^^and Til be quits with you yet!^^ 

^‘Don^t excite yourself, dear, or you^ll be worse, said 
Eena, innocently. 

Miss Hartford read her young favorite a gentle little lec- 
ture, but Eena kissed away the words almost . before they 
were uttered. 

don^t approve of practical jokes, my dear,'^ said Miss 
Hartford; ^‘and 

^^Then she shouldn't have made Allie cry,^^ interposed 
Eena. don^t care how insolent she chose to be, as far as 
I was concerned, but I won't have my sister teased and tor- 
mented." 

^‘But, my dear Eena 

^‘It has done, her good. Miss Hartford; her conceit was 
like a towering, rank weed, which the sickle of my little 
plot has pruned. Isn't that a nice figure of speech. I 
mean to write it down for my rhetoric lesson to-morrow 
morning." 

And Eena danced away as lightly as if her little slippers 
were ‘^finished off" with wings, like a female Mercury. 

^‘I think Adela Cheriton and girls of her stripe will let 
me alone after this," she thought; and she was right. 

In the little world of a boarding-school, a girl who is not 
afraid to assert herself' is sure to be respected accordingly. 
And after this incident Eena Percival and her gentle sister 
were more popular thlA ever. 


72 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


CHAPTEE IX. 

SCHOOL FKIENDSHIPS. 

you would go to her, just for a minute. Miss Eena; 
she's sobbin' as if her poor heart would break, and declarin' 
she won't stay, not another day." 

^^Homesick, poor thing!" said Rena Percival, to whom 
the good-natured housemaid had addressed herself. Which 
room is it, Jane?" 

^‘The third on the second floor, miss. Miss Parker went 
there and knocked, but she wouldn't so much as answer, 
and Miss Parker was shy-like of disturbin' her against her 
will." 

^ ‘There are some people that must be done good to, in 
spite of themselves, Jane," said Eena, gayly, as she went 
away. 

Eena Percival at eighteen was one of the loveliest crea- 
tures poets pen can describe, or artist's brain imagine. 
Rather dark than otherwise, without being a decided bru- 
nette, her hair hung low over a pearl-pure forehead, and 
jetty eyebrows tapered to a mere thread on either side over 
arched eyes of a deep liquid hazel. Her nose, slightly re- 
trousse, gave an excellent archness to her bright face, and 
her lips, scarlet, full and perfectly shaped, were dimpled 
with smiles which betokened the overflowing gayety of her 
maiden heart. 

Thus radiant in her fresh young beauty, and singing as 
she went, Rena Percival tripped along the corridor to the 
^Third room on the second floor," according to Jane's 
directions, and, knocking softly, paused an instant to 
listen. 

No very unusual sounds they were which reached her ears 
as she stood there, sobs and tears and shuddering sighs, the 
index of a homesick girl's heart on her flrst separation 
from the beloved scenes of her childhood, and without 
pausing to repeat her knock, Eena opened the door and 
went in. 

^^Lady Blanche Arden," she said, gently, ^^what is the 
matter?" 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


73 


A tall, gipsy-looking girl of sixteen or thereabouts was 
crouched on the sofa at the farthest end of the apartment, 
her face buried in the cushions, and her shoulders swaying 
to and fro with a restless rocking motion, which kept a sort 
of time to her sobs. 

^'Go away!^^ she exclaimed, with an irritated motion of 
the head, as Kena placed her hand on her forehead. ‘^1 hate 
you all! I hate school! I won^t stay here!^^ 

‘‘Yes, you will,^^ said Eena, sitting down beside her and 
taking the disheveled head to rest on her own shoulder. “It 
is nice, and you will like it after a little while. All the girls 
are homesick at first. 

The young girl made an effort to escape, but Eena^s clasp, 
though very tender, was firm, and she let her wearied head 
fall once more on the kind shoulder,while the tears streamed 
fast over her flushed cheeks. 

“That’s right!” soothed Eena, with a soft, magnetic mo- 
tion of her cool palms over the throbbing forehead. “Cry 
as much as you please — it will make you feel better.” 

“Were you homesick when you first came here?” asked 
the girl, lifting her heavy, tear-swollen eyes to Eena’s 
face. 

“All girls are,” was Eena’s evasive reply; “but they soon 
get over it, and you’ll be sure to be happy here — every one 
is so kind.” 

“Have you been here long?” 

“Nine years.” 

Lady Blanche looked surprised. 

“Ah! But you have no mother?” 

“No,” said Eena, sadly; “I have only a sister, and she is 
here with me.” 

“You are very pretty,” said Lady Blanche, with an inno- 
cent frankness that was utterly devoid of anything approach- 
ing to flattery. “What is your name?” 

“Eena Percival. Now lie still, and let me wet your hair 
with cologne. How hot your forehead feels.” 

Lady Blanche lay quiet with the stillness of exhaustion, 
which must necessarily succeed such a tempest of emotion 
as had shaken her slender frame during the last hour or 
two, but her hand closed wdth nervous pressure over Eena’s 
wrist, and there was something piteously clinging in the way 
her head nestled against the elder giiTs shoulder. 

Miss Hartford came in presently on tiptoe, 


74 


THE WIDOWED BRIDR 


Eena smiled up in her face. 

^‘Is she asleep?"^ 

Kena nodded assent. 

^Toor thing! I am so gladP^ whispered the kind-hearted 
preceptress. ^‘She is the only daughter of the Countess of 
Glenhampton. They thought a change would be beneficial 
to her, but she has never been separated from her mother 
before. Don’t you think she is pretty 

Kena made a negative motion of her head, as she surveyed 
the calm, sleeping lineaments, with the dew of scarcely dried 
tears yet hanging on the heavy eyelashes, and u. crimson 
spot on each cheek. 

^‘Not pretty, she said; should rather call her hand- 
some.^^ 

^‘Do you know, my dear, said Miss Hartford, with almost 
a start, ^^there is a strange likeness between you, as your 
faces are there, side by side?^^ 

Rena glanced across at a mirror which, hanging on the 
opposite side of the room, reflected the little group. She 
smiled and shook her head. 

^Tt is your fancy. Miss Hartford,^^ she said, lightly. ‘‘1 
do not perceive anything approaching to a likeness. 

^^Not just now, for she is pale and passive, while you are 
all smiles and dimples, and sparkling eyes and pink cheeks; 
but, a minute ago, when you were silent and quiet, you did 
look strangely alike.^^ 

Miss Hartford darkened the blinds, drew down the mus- 
lin shades, and went out of the room on tiptoe, and for 
nearly an hour Rena sat there, the slender fingers grasp- 
ing her wrist, and the pale forehead pillowed upon her 
shoulder. 

^^How strangely the prizes and blanks are apportioned in 
Lifers lottery, Rena thought, half mournfully, as she looked 
down upon the fair, aristocratic young face. ^^Both of us 
girls, both young and both passably pretty, but there the 
parallel ceases. I have my own way to fight in the world — 
she has hers all made for her, the path carpeted with flow- 
ers, and the very winds of heaven prevented from blowing 
too roughly on her brow! I am poor— she^s rich.^^ 

She sighed softly — a strange sound to come from one so 
young and so beautiful, but she never moved, until Lady 
Blanche Arden waked with a start, unaware, for the instant, 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 7S 

whose eyes were shining down into her own with such a 
tender, hazel light! 

''Will you be rny friend, Miss Percival?^^ she asked, with 
a caressing shyness in her manner. "I think I shall like 
you very muchT^ 

And thus began a friendship between the two girls, which 
grew into protecting tenderness on the side of the elder one, 
a sort of admiring idolatry on the part of the younger. In 
the peaceful days, before the great instinct of wifehood is 
developed in the heart of the young maiden, there comes a 
season in which she elevates into the shrine of a goddess 
some blessed companion, investing her with all the attri- 
butes of purity and perfection, clinging to her with blind 
devotion, treasuring up her looks, her words, her smiles! 
Eena Percival was the goddess whom Blanche Arden wor- 
shiped with all the passionate loving ardor of her sixteen 
young years! 

The months crept away until the year rounded itself into 
its fullness of time, and drew near to the evening preceding 
Eena and Alice PercivaFs graduation da3^ 

The young ladies of the graduating class, only nine or ten 
in number — for Miss Hartford prided herself more and more 
upon the exclusive selectness of her establishment — were to 
wear white muslin dresses, with broad blue sashes, and blue 
ribbons in their hair, their only ornaments a bunch of white 
roses worn in the corsage or at the belt. Alice sat in her 
room, putting the last dainty stitches in the dress she was 
to be adorned with on the morrow. 

"Why douT you have a dressmaker do it?^^ Lady Blanche 
had innocently asked, and Alice had answered, calmly: 

"Because we canT afford it, Blanche, dear. We are not 
rich like you."^^ 

She was murmuring the refrain of a little Italian ballad 
to herself, at her work, when the door opened, and Eena 
entered. 

Alice glanced up with a smile. 

"Why, Eena, darling, how your eyes sparkle P she ex- 
claimed; "and what is that letter in your hand?^'' 

"What do you suppose, dear?"^ laughingly asked Eena, 
as she sat down by her sister^s side, and passed one arm 
around Alice’s slender waist, 
cannot guess. 


7a ^HE WIDOWED BRIDJi. 

course you can^t — you couldn^t if you were to try foi! 
a twelvemonth!’^ 

^‘Tell me what it is?^^ 

offer of marriage, little innocence 1^^ 

She held the letter triumphantly above her sister’s head 
as she spoke, contemplating Alice’s face of surprise and 
bewilderment. 

^‘Kena, from whom?” 

^^Not Monsieur Lemaire,” laughed Kena, archly. ^‘It’s 
from the Keverend Decimus!” 

The Eeverend Decimus Kent, the tenth son of a country 
clergyman, down in Dorsetshire, was the theological instruc- 
tor at Hartford Lodge, thereby earning a slight addition to 
the by no means plenteous stipend attached to his hard- 
worked London curacy. He was tall and pale, with thin, 
colorless hair, light blue eyes, and a face which by no means 
did justice to the genius, self-denial, and nobility of his 
nature. He had firmly resolved never to marry, not because 
he did not fully appreciate the advantages of a cozy home 
and a domestic circle sacred to himself, but because he knew 
his salary was too small, his hopes too slender, to warrant 
involving another life in his own patient career of self-sacri- 
fice. 

But what are human resolutions worth, even the boldest 
and most steadfast of them, when they are actually subjected 
to the tests of temptation? The Reverend Decimus, vowed 
to celebacy though he was, somehow got Rena PercivaFs 
dark eyes and wavy hair curiously commingled with Paley s 
Theology and Blair’s Sermons, and waked, all of a sudden, 
to the overwhelming consciousness that he was in love with 
the pretty little enchantress, who listened so gravely to his 
expositions. 

Of course he resolved to conquer his folly, but there are 
some species of folly more difficult to conquer than others; 
and the more the Reverend Decimus Kent determined he 
would not think about Rena Percival, the more he thought 
about her. 

must remove myself out of the way of temptation,” 
thought Mr. Kent. And he sat down and wrote a long 
letter to a country rector — an old friend of his father’s — 
offering his services as an assistant during the ensuing sum- 
mer. 

^Hf he accepts my offer,” thought Mr. Kent, will take 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


77 


it as a sign that I should remain a single man; if, through 
any unforeseen concatenation of circumstances, he declines 
my assistance * 

And leaving the sentence unfinished in his brain, he asked 
himself over and over again whether it were possible that one 
so young and so beautiful as Eena Percival could ever be his 
wife? 

^^But, of course, Mr. Glenholme will accept me/^ he 
thought, rather disconsolately. ^‘He has a large parish, 
and work enough for half a dozen curates; there can be no 
manner of doubt about that.^^ 

And Mr. Kent was half sorry that he had written the 
eventful epistle* 

In due time, the Eeverend Mr* Glenholme^s answer ar- 
rived. He was ^^much obliged to his young friend, quite 
as much so, in fact, as if it had been practicable for him to 
accept Mr. KenPs kind proposition; but, for the ensuing 
summer, he had already secured a sufficiency of help.*^' 

The Eeverend Decimus Kent threw the letter into the air 
with a hurrah like that of a disfranchised schoolboy. It 
was as if a dreary cloud had suddenly rolled away from the 
horizon of his life, disclosing the royal sun in all its blaze of 
beauty. And then he sat down again, with his heart beat- 
ing like half a dozen trip-hammers condensed into one, to 
write the very letter which Miss Percival was now waving 
so triumphantly over her sistePs head. 

‘‘Mr. Kent,^^ slowly repeated Alice, as if scarcely able to 
credit her ears. “An offer of marriage from Mr. KentP^ 

“Himself and none other, cried Eena. “Only to think 
of it, Alice, that Mr. Kent, with his polysyllabic words and 
solemn dignity, should have chanced to fall in love with 
silly, frivolous little me.-^' 

“It is strange, mused Alice. “May I read the letter, 
Eena?^^ 

“Of course you may,^^ said Eena, tossing the epistle which 
had cost poor Decimus Kent so much deliberation and 
thought into her sister’s lap. 

Alice glanced over the letter with more interest than her 
sister had evinced. 

“Why, Eena, how dearly he must love you!” she exclaim- 
ed, as she laid it down. 

“Yes,” said Eena, composedly, “I think he loves me.” 

“Shall you accept him, Rena?” 


78 


THE WIDOWED BBIDE 


^^Accept him!’’ Kena opened wide her lovely hazel eyes 
with an expression of astonished incredulity as to whether 
she had heard her sister aright. ^‘I! Accept Decimus 
Kent!’’ 

^^Why not, dear Eena?” 

^‘Look at me!” Eena drew herself up to her full height. 
‘‘Do I appear like the sort of person to bury myself alive in 
a London curacy? They call me pretty — nay, I can see it 
for myself when I look into the glass — that beauty shall 
mark out for me a career such as I have always sighed for. I, 
to marry Decimus Kent! Alice, I think you must be a lit- 
le demented!” 

“Eena!” 

“Don’t look so grave and grieved, little one. I am only 
saying out what others think. We are both standing on 
life’s threshold, and who can tell what possibilities of un- 
tried fate may lie before us. Do you think I would eclipse 
all hopes and chances in the humdrum name and life of 
Mrs. Decimus Kent?” 

^‘But he is a good man, Eena.” 

“And I don’t pretend to be in any way allied to the 
tribe of earthly angels, so you see we shouldn’t assimi- 
late.” 

“And he loves you!” 

“So I mean shall a good many people before I have reached 
middle life.” 

“Eena! Eena!” said Alice, gravely, shaking her head, 
^‘you are too ambitious.” 

“Ko, I am not — no one who has her own way to make in 
the world can be too ambitious. Beauty is a powerful en- 
gine, and I mean mine shall serve me well. Who knows, 
little Alice, perhaps some day I may wear a coronet on my 
brow!” 

^‘Do you set wealth and station above happiness?” 

“I mean to have both. Hush! there is a knock at the 
door. Come in, whoever you are.” 

It was Nancy, the door girl. 

“Miss Hartford’s compliments. Miss Percival, and Miss 
Alice, and would like to have you come to her in her room 
for a few minutes, if quite agreeable to you.” 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


79 


CHAPTER X. 

EEiirA^s ch5ice. 

Miss Hartford^s reception-room was a prettily furnished 
apartment, always scented with roses, newly cut and ar- 
ranged in vases during the summer months, and exhaling 
sweetness from huge Japanese jars of dried petals during 
the winter. 

In one hand she held an open letter, in the other were her 
gold eye-glasses. 

‘‘Come in, my dears, and sit down,^"" said Miss Hartford, 
welcoming the young sisters with a smile. “So you are to 
graduate to-morrow. Dear me, how the time flies. 

“Ips the way of the world, Miss Hartford,^^ said Rena, 
sitting down on a low stool beside the old lady^’s chair, and 
laying her cheek against the wrinkled white hand that rested 
against its cushioned arm. “You have sent away too many 
young birds, newly fledged and eager to try their wings, to 
wonder that we, too, are anxious.^' 

“That is what I wished to speak to you about, Rena,^^ 
said Miss Hartford, gravely. “I think I may say that you 
two girls have received every advantage of education that it 
was possible to give you. You are excellent musicians, both 
in the vocal and instrumental branches, and Alice has a su- 
perior voice. You are both good linguists, moderately 
skilled mathematicians, and accomplished in the depart- 
ments of natural science. ' You have well improved your 
time here, and I think Lady Barrowfield herself could not 
have failed to be perfectly satisfled with you. In short, girls, 
I have done my duty, and you have done yours. 

“Of which two facts, observed Rena, gravely, “the lat- 
ter is the most to be marveled at.^^ 

“And now,^^ went on Miss Hartford, scarcely noticing 
Renans speech in the graver considerations which were occu- 
pying her mind, “the question now naturally presents itself, 
what is to be done next.^^ 

Both girls remained silent, for they saw that Miss Hart- 
ford had not flnished all that she had to say. 

“I have here a letter,"^ she added, after a moment's 


80 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


silence, tapping the unfolded sheet in her lap, ^^from a cler- 
gyman in Cardiganshire, Wales, the Reverend Ralph Eskett, 
who solicits my good offices in assisting him to select a gov- 
erness for his three little girls. The situation, near the sea, 
and not distant from the picturesque mountain ranges of 
JS^orthern Wales, is delightful, as I can myself testify, 
having once visited my friend, Mrs. Eskett, three years ago. 
The family are charming, and would make a home for any 
young lady, who came to them in the capacity of gov- 
erness, and the salary is thirty-five pounds per annum, a 
very nice sum,^^ continued Miss Hartford, with an air of 
subdued triumph. ^T have written to Mr. Eskett, that my 
young friend. Miss Percival, w^ould probably suit his require- 
ments in all respects, and I am only waiting for your sanc- 
tion, Rena, to seal up my letter, and send it to the post- 
office at once.^^ 

Rena was silent. Miss Hartford at once jumped to the 
conclusion that she was overwhelmed by the brilliant pros- 
pects that lay before her. 

know you are quite inexperienced, my dear,^^ she 
added; ^^but I think, with application and care, you can 
hardly fail to fill the position to the satisfaction of Mr. and 
Mrs. Eskett. You need not allow any misgivings about 
your sister to influence your decision, as I can easily make 
her useful in the charge of the elementary classes here until 
a similar opportunity offers itself for her satisfactory estab- 
lishment in life. Nor need you be perplexed as to a suita- 
ble outfit, as Lady Barrowfield^s executors have directed 
that the sum of fifty pounds be paid to your credit, at any 
time you choose to draw it from the bank. Fifty pounds 
ought to purchase a very nice and complete wardrobe for 
any young lady, even allowing a margin for some little 
extras. 

And Miss Hartford looked triumphantly at Rena, as if 
she thought she had placed at her disposal the key to a 
mine of gold. 

will finish my letter at once,^^ she said, ^^and tell them 
you will be happy to undertake the charge.'’^ 

^'You need not, Miss Hartford,^^ said Rena, in a voice that 
was exquisitely soft and low, and yet as resolute as if every 
word had been a thunderbolt. do not wish to accept the 
situation. 

^^Not wish to accept the situation^ Miss Hartford’s eyes 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


81 


grew stony, her lips fell apart. If Eena had told hhr she 
did not wish to go to heaven, she could scarcely have been 
more astonished. ^^Rena, my dear, I doif t think you know 
what you are saying. 

^‘Yes, Ido,^^ asserted Rena, with quiet fixedness of pur- 
pose. do not wish to be a governess — at present, at 
least. 

*^But, Rena, you know that your term of tuition expires 
here to-morrow?” 

am aware of it.” 

^•Have you any idea what you are to do? Whither you 
are to go?” 

^^Yes,” said Rena, calmly. ^^Lady Blanche Arden has 
been kind enough to invite me to go home with hertoGlen- 
hampton Castle, to spend a few weeks, and I have accepted 
the invitation.” 

^^Rena,” murmured Alice, in accents of tender reproach, 
^^you never told me this!” 

^^Because I did not quite know whether my decision was, 
or was not, final; but my mind is made up now to go.” 

cannot say that I think you have decided wisely, Rena,” 
said Miss Hartford. ‘‘But if you are disinclined to accept 
the position, I suppose it would be useless for me to urge it 
upon you.” 

“Quite useless, ma’am.” 

“And I may as well write to the Eskettsto look elsewhere 
for a governess for those poor little girls?” 

“As far as I am concerned, yes, ma^am.” 

“Stop a moment. Miss Hartford 1” said Alice, who had 
hitherto sat quite silent. “Since Rena is resolved not to 
accept this situation, do you think that I could give satis- 
faction to your friends?” 

“My dear,” said Miss Hartford, dropping the gold eye- 
glasses on the fioor in her astonishment, “I never once 
thought of you!” 

Alice stooped to pick up the glasses. 

“I would do my very best,” she said, wistfully. “I am 
not so brilliant as Rena, but I believe that I have thoroughly 
mastered all the branches to which I have applied myself, 
and I think I could teach three little girls.” 

“Of course you could,” said Miss Hartford; “and I dare 
say Mr. Eskett would be very glad to have you. But I had 


82 


TEE WIDOWED BUIDE, 


IDlanned to keep you here a little longer, Alice; the younger 
girls are very fond of you, and 

^‘Why should you seek to spare me longer from the rough 
contact with the world, to which I must eventually come; 
sooner or later. Miss Hartford asked Alice, almost mourn- 
fully. have my own living to earn — my own bread to 
get. You are very kind to me; been almost too kind, I 
think, for it would spoil me to be long petted and indulged, 
as I have been here. But I cannot remain at Hartford 
Lodge always, and it is better for me to take some such situ- 
ation as this, where the pupils are young, and the duties 
compararively light and easy, by way of testing my powers 
as an instructress of youth. Will you please ask the Kev- 
erend Mr. Eskett if he will give me a trial 

‘‘I shall ask no such question, my dear,^^ said Miss Hart- 
ford, nodding her head, emphatically. ^^Kalph Eskett has 
written to me, asking me to select a governess for him. If 
I select you, it follows, as a natural sequence, that he will 
be glad and happy to give you the trial, and no further 
questions need to be asked. I will scratch out Kena’s name 
in my letter, and insert yours; that will obviate the neces- 
sity of rewriting it. I can recommend you quite as cheer- 
fully and sincerely as I could your sister, who occurred to 
me as the elder, and consequently, most likely to desire the 
situation. 

She kissed Aliceas cheek as she spoke. 

Eena nestled close to her, with a winning pretense of lov- 
ing jealousy. 

‘^You are not angry with me. Miss Hartford?^' 

• ^^Hot angry, dear; only grieved that you should be so blind 
to your own interests, ^Hhe old lady answered, stroking down 
the bright hair beneath her touch. think Alice has 
chosen wisely; as far as your choice, time only can deter- 
mine whether it be for well or ill.'''’ 

And the two sisters went back to their own rooms, feeling 
vaguely that they had already caught a glimpse of the great, 
far-oif, misty future that lay beyond the walls of their 
school-room. 


THE WIDOWED BMIDK 


83 


CHAPTER XL 

LADY BLAI5-CHE'S HOME. 

The graduation passed off, as all graduations do, with 
the usual routine of music, speech^making, bouquets, and 
compliments, and on the following day the scholars ex- 
changed affectionate adieus, departed, and soon Hartford 
Lodge was deserted. 

^^How beautiful the country is, dear Blanche! I have 
seen pictures with just such purple hills, and bending skies, 
and little streams glimmering through the woods. Oh, I 
could dream on forever in such a spot as thisT^ 

Rena PercivaFs cheek was glowing, and her beautiful face 
lighted up with the enthusiasm of the moment, as, with 
Lady Blanche Arden beside her, she leaned back among the 
satin cushions of the elegant landau which had been sent to 
the railway station to meet the two girls. 

^^And what are all these people doing in the fields?^^ went 
on Rena, leaning forward, while the evening breeze lifted 
the tiny ringlets from her forehead and fluttered the strings 
of her white straw hat. ^^Oh, Blanche, see how picturesque 
they look, moving about like the figures in a panorama P 

^^They are h ay makers, said Blanche. ^‘Yes, I suppose 
they are picturesque, although I never thought about it be- 
fore; you know we see them here every year, and I suppose 
custom has familiarized me to the sight. 

As she spoke the words the gray, stone tower and steep, 
ivy-covered roof of St. Hilda’s Church came in view round 
a curve in the road, its ancient buttresses and stone copings 
gilded by the lone light of the declining sun, and like a 
sudden electric flash the scene of ten vears ago rose up be- 
fore Rena PercivaFs eyes — the serene Kent landscape, the 
sunset flooding all the wooded dales and meadow slopes, and 
the far-off voices of the toilers mingling with the song of 
birds and the rustle of ivy leaves around the old gray church. 
Her cheeks burned, her eyes glittered with troubled light, 
as with a vague sort of double life— a consciousness of min- 
gled past and present, she seemed to see the vhite-haired 
old man sitting in the church porch, with his crossed hands 


84 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


on the top of his staff, and two sunburned, wild-haired little 
elves creeping down the wide aisle of the sacred edifice 
within, starting at the sound of their own voices, and filled 
with shy delight to see the bars of orange and ruby and blue 
light quivering down through the stained glass splendors of 
the western oriels, and lying like shattered rainbows at their 
feet! Poor little wearied wretches! She pitied them now, 
almost as if they had been strangers, as she remembered the 
wearied limbs and blistered feet of long ago, and, like a writ- 
ing on the wall of her memory, rose up the gilded letters on 
the marble tablet, surrounded by the sculptured angels, be- 
fore which the little wanderers had stood in a mute rapture 
of delight: 

‘^To the memory of Allegra and Katherine, twin 
daughters of Adelbert, Earl of Glenhampton, who died 
June 21, 18 — , aged two years and sixteen days. ‘Suffer 
little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of 
such is the kingdom of heaven!^ 

Ever so marvelous is the power of association. During 
the ten years that had elapsed since that September evening, 
Kena had never once recalled the monumental inscription 
to her memory; now it seemed as vivid before her as if she 
had deciphered it but yesterday. 

^‘Daughters of Adelbert, Earl of Glenhampton! They 
were Blanche’s sisters then!” 

She glanced through her drooping eyelashes at the young 
girl sitting by her side, and longed to ask about the little 
things so early stricken down, but she never opened her 
lips. 

^Tt will all come about in due time,” she thought; ^^and 
I have no wish to be identified, in anybody’s mind, with the 
ragged little pauper of the old time, who tramped through 
the mud and dust of London streets, and wore the charity- 
checked aprons of Wykenham Refuge.” 

“How silent you are, Rena,” said Blanche, playfully lay- 
ing her hand upon the other’s shoulder; “and how grave 
you look!’' 

“It is all so new and strange to me,” said Rena, with a 
forced smile. “Have we nearly reached Glenhampton?” 

“This wall of gray stone on our right, with the vases of 
hanging trailers on every buttress, is the westernmost 
boundary of the park; we shall soon be there now. Do you 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


85 


gee yonder shaft of crumbling stone, with the festoons of ivy 
waving to and fro in the wind?’*^ 

^‘Yes; it looks almost like a monumental pillar/^ 

^^It is a monument/^ said Blanche, in alow, earnest voice. 
^^It is all that is left of a pretty little porter’s lodge that 
once stood there — the chimney stack. 

^^What became of it?^'’ asked Kena, fixing her dark eyes 
full upon her companion's face, while her heart throbbed 
violently. 

^^It was burned to the ground, answered Blanche; ^^but 
what gave a terrible interest to the occurrence was that a 
poor old man and two children, who had sought a tempo- 
rary refuge in its deserted rooms for that one night, perished 
also in the flames! No wonder you start and turn pale, 
Eena; it makes me shudder to think of it, even now, al- 
though it must be nearly ten years ago. A few charred and 
scorched remains were all which we could give Christian 
burial to. And papa never would allow them to remove the 
old chimney, around which the ivy had grown, as if it would 
fain conceal the ghastly ruins of what was once a happy 
home. And what made it all seem more frightfully horri- 
ble was that upon the same night 

She stopped, for at that moment the carriage rolled under 
the arched marble gateway, whose clustered pillars were sur- 
mounted by carved bass-reliefs, and a gate-house built to 
correspond, stood back, half-hidden by a majestic growth of 
evergreens. 

A beautiful little Italian grayhound, as white as milk, 
with a silver collar round his slender throat, bounded into 
the carriage as it paused momentarily for the gates to be 
opened, and Blanche caught it up in her arms. 

‘^My pet, my lovely little Pearl P she exclaimed, hugging 
and kissing it, while it struggled to lick her face, and 
uttered shrill cries of delight. ^‘Oh! this seems like home 
in good earnest. 

As she spoke, the Castle came in sight, crowning a ma- 
iestic elevation all dotted with feathery branched elms and 
walnut trees of immense size and age, its central dome “and 
gray stone towers catching new beauty from the sunset, and 
the marble-flagged terrace, from which the broad stone steps 
led down, decorated with superb orange trees glittering with 
golden fruit, plumy palms, and acacias, whose mist-like 
foliage was indigenous to Palestine and Persia. Turning to 


86 


THE WWOWEE BRIDE. 


the left, the carriage skirted the terraces and rolled up to 
the grand front, and in an instant Lady Blanche Arden was 
in her mother^s arms. 

In the one instant in which she seemed forgotteu by both 
mother and daughter, Lena had a good opportunity to study 
the face and features of the Countess of Glenhampton, whose 
stately charms as far excelled the delicate beauty of her 
young daughter as the golden planet Venus outshines one of 
the pale Pleiades. The ten years which had elapsed since 
last she formed one of the dramatis per sonce of our tale had 
scarcely left an impress on her beautiful oval face, where the 
roses of health glowed softly through the cream-white skin. 

^^Marnma,^^ said Blanche, ^‘this is Rena Percival, my be- 
loved companion, of whom I have so often told you. You 
must be sure and love her very dearly, for my sake.*’' 

^Tt will be very easy for me to love Blanche's friend,^^ 
said Lady Glenhampton, with a soft graciousness of man- 
ner which was exquisitely captivating. ^^You are more than 
welcome at Glenhampton, Miss Percival. Marienne, my 
maid, shall conduct you to your room at once, for dinner 
will soon be ready, and you have neither of you much time 
to dress. 

^ ‘Renans room must be near [mine, mamma,'^ cried out 
Lady Blanche, with the fearless imperiousness of a petted 
and indulged child. 

believe Mrs. Wadesleigh has assigned to her the rose- 
rooms, just beyond yours, my child. 

Lady Blanche executed a pirouette of delight. 

‘‘How nice!^^ she exclaimed. knew dear old Wades- 
leigh would have things just to suit me, and there^s a door 
communicating between the two boudoirs, Rena. WonT it 
be splendid 

But Rena scarcely heard what she said; a feeling of dizzy 
bewilderment racked her brain as Lady Glenhampton led 
her down the grand circular hall, with its dome of deep-blue 
glass above, sprinkled with stars of gold, and the flowers, 
and pictures, and bending statues around. 

^^Oh, what a beautiful painting!’' she exclaimed, stopping 
short before an old representation of the Madonna 
which hung over one of the pillared door-ways. ^Gt seems 
to me as if I had somewhere seen it before. 

^^There are several copies of it, I believe,^' said the coun- 
tess; ^^but this is an orignal which my husband purchased 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


87 


in a little Italian convent town. I wish Lord Glenhampton 
were at home; he would be pleased with your appreciation 
of his pet work of art.''' 

“When is he coming, mamma?'^ asked Lady Blanche, who 
was gathering scarlet pomegranate blossoms from a pyramid 
of bloom and fragrance which occupied the center of the 
hall. 

^‘Not until October, at least, the countess answered. 
^ ^Doctor Mellin thinks the air of the Continent agrees so 
much better with him at this season of the year that he has 
concluded to remain here at present.'^ 

“Come, Rena,'^ said Lady Blanche, passing her arm 
through that of her companion, as the latter still lingered 
before the dove-eyed Madonna, whose sad face looked with 
such an expression of human love and longing from the 
dusky darkness of the canvas. “Has the picture fascinated 
you 

“No, said Rena, turning away with almost an effort; 
“but somehow it seems to me as if my own mother must 
have looked like that.^" 

Lady Glenhampton glanced kindly at her. 

“Can you remember your mother, my dear?'^ she asked. 
“Blanche tells me that you are an orphan 

“I suppose I cannot remember, but I am always trying to 
picture her face to myself,'" answered Rena, gravely. 

The trim-looking, little French waiting-maid, whom Lady 
Glenhampton called Marienne,had opened a door, supported 
by white and gold pilasters, above which were wreathed 
gold vine-leaves and clusters of white grapes. 

“These are the apartments of mademoiselle,"" she said, 
with a courtesy, and Blanche left her with a kiss. 

“Marienne will take care of you,"" she said; “and I will 
come for you when I am dressed."" 

Rena followed the maid across a tiny vestibule, carpeted 
with rose-colored velvet and hung with pink silk, fringed 
with silver, in a suite of rooms communicating with each 
other — boudoir, bedroom, and dressing-room, with a small 
anteroom adjoining. Lady Glenhampton had called them 
the rose-rooms, and Rena understood why, as she stood look- 
ing round. The carpets were of pink velvet, the window 
draperies of pink and silver, and the walls tinted of the 
faintest rose-color, like the last delicate reflections of a mid- 


88 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


summer sunset, while the furniture, of white, enameled 
wood, was covered with pink brocatelle. 

shall feel as if I lived inside of a rose^s heart here,^^ 
Kena thought to herself, as she breathed in the delicious 
odor of flower-baskets on ivory brackets, and saw the green 
foliage of the many elms through the open window, with 
the river Medway shining far away like a sheet of molten 
silver. 

Marienne^s voice broke on the current of Eena^s thoughts, 
or rather impressions, as she stood surveying her new quar- 
ters. 

^‘Will mademoiselle please to give me her keys,” she 
asked, ^^so that I can unpack a dinner dress?” 

A momentary flush of mortiflcation rose to Eena PercivaFs 
cheek. She had as much moral courage as most girls, but 
she did shrink from the idea of submitting her poor little 
trunk and bandbox to the inspection of Mademoiselle Mari- 
enne^s eye. The words, ‘^You may go — I would rather un- 
pack my things myself !” rose to her lips, but, ere they 
were spoken, she caught the curious, wondering expression 
of the girFs eyes raised to hers. No — it would not do to risk 
comment and gossip among the servants; she must keep up 
her dignity at all hazards, and, drawing her two keys from 
her pocket, she handed them loftily to the maid, as if it 
were quite an every-day affair for her to accept the services 
of a French maid. 

Marienne moved noiselessly to and fro, putting the things 
away in a wardrobe-bureau and dressing-closet, while Eena 
washed the dust of travel from her head and face, and 
wondered within herself what the next ceremonial would 
be. 

^T have laid out the blue silk dress for mademoiselle,” said 
Marienne^s soft voice close to her ear, ^^and if I may be al- 
lowed to arrange her hair 

Eena sat down abruptly in the chair Marienne had drawn 
up in the mirror-walled dressing-room, and allowed the 
French girFs skillful hands to take down, brush out, and 
rearrange her masses of dark hair. 

^‘Mademoiselle has splendid hair,” said Marienne, smooth- 
ing out the long tresses with a loving touch, as if she de- 
lighted in their luxuriance, ‘‘almost as much as my lady. 
Mademoiselle will need no false braids.” 

And Eena scarcely knew herself in Marienne^s artistic 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


89 


chevelure, with the broad braids drooping behind her ears, 
and a white japonica, which the maid summoned a servant 
to cut from the greenhouse, nestling among them, while two 
or three long, silky curls rippled over her shoulders on 
either side. Her blue silk dress, trimmed with white lace, 
was exceedingly becoming to her, and her fair, white shoul- 
ders gleamed like pearl from the white lace shawl which 
Marienne had festooned over one arm and under the other, 
while the little slippers made her foot look even smaller than 
its natural proportions. 

^‘Is there anything more I can do before my Lady Blanche 
comes Marienne asked, with polite deference. 

^^Hothing more,^^ Kena answered. ‘‘You may go now, 
Marienne. 

The French maid had hardly closed the door behind her 
when Kena sprang to her feet and bounded across the room 
with all the girlish gayety and abandon she had perforce re- 
pressed during the presence of the trim little servitress. She 
turned round and round in the circle of mirrors, bursting 
into dignified smiles in the happy consciousness of her own 
beauty. 

“I never looked half so pretty before she thought. 
“Oh, if I could only have a French maid to dress me 
always 

Lady Blanche came in presently, dressed in simple white, 
with roses in her hair, and turquoise ornaments. 

“How lovely you look, dear Rena,^^ she said. “Nature has 
made a mistake in us. You ought to be the earhs daughter 
instead of 

“Nonsense!” said Rena, twining her arms about her 
friend^s waist, but with a pretty consciousness of her own 
bright, flower-like beauty, nevertheless, as they went down 
stairs to join Lady Glenhampton in the west drawing- 
rooms. 

Almost as they entered the apartment, a tall footman in a 
livery of brown and gold, with varnished pumps, glistening 
white silk stockings and a powdered head, as if he were 
prematurely old, appeared at an opposite threshold, an- 
nouncing in a studiously lowered tone the words; 

“Dinner is served, my lady!” 

“Unfortunately,” said Lady Glenhampton, turning to her 
young companion with a smile, “we have no gentleman to 
escort us to dinner to-night. Ernest has written that he 


90 


THE WIDOWED BBIDE. 


is coming down next week, Blanche, with some of his young 
friends, so it will be less dull for you/^ 

‘^1 am never dull, mamma, said Blanche, quietly. 

^^But Miss Percival may be, and without pausing to hear 
Kenans disclaimer, the countess led the way into the great 
dining-room, where there was glass and silver, and hot- 
house flowers, and table-room enough to seat thirty people, 
Avith a tall footman, the very duplicate of the gentleman 
who had announced the meal, behind each chair, and a sil- 
ver-haired butler at the sideboard, watching his subordinates 
with an argus eye. 

Rena Percival had not yet taken the crimson velvet chair 
with oaken Gothic back and wide, hospitable arms which 
was obviously indicated to her by the white-haired old but- 
ler, when the door at the farther end of the long room 
swung slowly open, reA'olving noiselessly upon its plaited 
hinges, and something glided in which made the young girl 
start and thrill as if she had suddenly beheld a supernatural 
visitant from the world of dreams, and shadows, and un- 
real things. 


THE WIDOWED BEIDK 


91 


CHAPTER XIL 

MISS CLIVE. 

It was a woman's figure^ tall and very slender, dressed in 
the deepest and most somber black, of some heavy material, 
which fell in straight folds from her shoulders to her feet, 
save where a black cord and tassel girded it around her waist, 
after a fashion as antique as it was unbecoming. Her hands, 
long and slender, with taper fingers, on one of which gleamed 
the only ornament she wore, a heavy circlet of gold, where 
the wedding ring is usually placed, hung listlessly by her 
side, and she moved with a slow, gliding motion, that re- 
sembled undulation rather than walking, while her face, 
absolutely colorless as the whitest of marble, had a set 
rigidity in every lineament, and her hair, very long and 
thick, was not confined or bound up in any way but streamed 
down her back. But its color was more remarkable even 
than the style in which it was worn — a pale, lusterless gold, 
or fiaxen, thickly threaded with white, although the deli- 
cate grain of her skin, and the unwrinkled smoothness of 
her forehead bore witness to the fact that she was not a 
middle-aged woman. Her eyes, of a light, glassy blue, had 
the peculiar, unseeing expression which we attribute to 
somnambulists, except when she fixed them full on some 
object directly before her, when a quivering sapphire light 
would seem to fiow into them, and her intentness of gaze 
would be almost startling. 

Rena turned an eager, inquiring gaze toward Lady Blanche 
as this strange apparition glided into the room. 

^^It is Miss Clive, my old governess, said Blanche, and 
she ran to throw her arms around the black-robed figure 
and cover the pale lips with kisses, leading her up to the 
new-comer as she did so. 

^‘Rena, this is Miss Clive, mammals dearest friend, she 
said, ^^and. Miss Clive, this is Miss Rena Percival, my dear- 
est friend!'^ 

Rena had difficulty to prevent herself from shuddering as 
the cold hand lay for a instant in her own like that of a 
corpse, and the colorless lips murmured a few conventional 
words of greeting. Then Miss Clive took her seat next to 
Lady Glenhampton, and dinner began. Rena could not 
help seeing that the strange-looking woman was as excep- 


92 


THE WIDOWED BPJDE. 


tional in her diet as in other things, making her meal off a 
crust of bread and a glass of ice- water, although the table 
was loaded with every delicacy of the season. Her eyes kept 
returning with a species of fascination to the corpse-like 
face, although she was much embarrassed once or twice 
when Miss Clive, suddenly raising her eyes, encountered 
the curious gaze of her new acquaintance. 

^‘You need not blush so deeply. Miss Percival/^ she said 
with a smile, when this had happened more than once. ^‘I 
am accustomed to being looked at, as if I were a curiosity 

‘^1 beg your pardon,’' began Rena, coloring more deeply 
than ever; did not intend 

^^It is scarcely worth your while to apologize, said Miss 
Clive, abruptly. ‘‘You are young, and I can read in your 
face that you have a kind heart. I shall take no offense at 
your regards. 

Rena Percival was considerably relieved when the cere- 
monious and long-protracted meal drew to a close, and she 
accompanied Lady Blanche out into the purple darkness of 
the late August evening, where the lights from the drawing- 
room windows fell across their way as they paced arm in 
arm up and down the marble pavement of the broad ter- 
race. 

“Dear Blanche, she said, eagerly, “tell me about that 
Miss Clive. Why does she dress so strangely and look so 
marble white? And why does she stare at you as if she 
were blind, and speak always in that low tone, almost be- 
neath her breath? Is she crazy ?^^ 

She spoke the last word in a whisper, drawing closer to 
Lady Blanche as she did so. 

“Crazy? — no,^’ answered Lady Blanche; “but I some- 
times wonder that she is not. Only think, dear Rena — she 
was out walking in this very park nine — no, ten years ago, 
and came suddenly upon the corpse of her murdered lover 
— the man to whom she was to have been married the next 
day."" 

“How dreadful!"" said Rena, shuddering. “But, who 
murdered him, Blanche?"" 

“We never knew. He had not an enemy in the world 
that people were aware of, and there was nothing stolen, so 
that the deed could not have been committed for the sake of 
greed of gain. I was with her at the time — a little creature, 
scarcely more than a baby — and I can just remember hear- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


93 


ing her piercing scream, and seeing the dead face pillowed 
in the grass and fern as if it were asleep, except for the wide 
open glassy eyes. He is buried in St. Hilda^s churchyard, 
and Miss Clive goes every day, rain or shine, summer or 
winter, to lay a wreath of fresh flowers upon his grave. 

‘^It sounds like a romance/^ said Eena, thoughtfully. 

^^It is like a romance, said Lady Blanche. ^^She has 
made it the business of her life to discover and track out 
the man who murdered Mr. Hunsworth — that was her 
lover^s name — and I believe she thinks and dreams of noth- 
ing else by day or night. Mamma calls it a monomania; 
she has striven by every possible means to distract her atten- 
tion and win her thoughts away from the one all-absorbing 
topic, but it is quite useless. She never goes away from 
home, but she is in communication by letter with every 
police detective in England or on the Continent.'’^ 
should be afraid of lier.^"^ 

^‘No, you would not; she is too gentle for that. Besides, 
I have known her all my life, and 1 believe she was mammals 
friend before she married my father. Mamma was a young 
widow then, without much money. 

^^Has your mother been married twice asked Eena. 

^‘To be sure. Didn^t you know that Ernest was not my 
own brother 

^^How should I know it, you unreasonable Blanche, when 
you have never told me?^^ 

Lady Blanche Arden laughed out merrily in the twilight. 

‘^Perhaps I took it for granted that you ought to know 
by instinct she replied. ^‘But Ernest is Captain Evelyn, 
and, you know, had he been papa^s son, he would have been 
Lord Ernest Arden. 

‘‘I am not so well posted in the peerage as you,^^ retorted 
Eena. ‘^However, I dare say the aristocratic atmosphere of 
this splendid old castle, will And its way through my dull- 
ness after a while, so that I shall not prove quite incorrig- 
ible! So, this Miss Clive used to be your governess?^' 

^^Mine and ErnesPs too. We were very fond of her, and 
still are, for that matter, although she never assumed any 
charge of us after Mr. Hunsworth^s terrible death. She had 
a brain fever then, and, even after her recovery, it was 
months before she recovered her usual health and strength, 
either bodily or mentally. She lives here partly because 
mamma loves her so dearly, and partly because the murder 


94 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


was committed within the domains of Glenhampton Park. 
My father considers her as a sort of sacred charge be- 
queathed to his care and protection. But the most startling 
coincidence of it all is what I began to tell you, when we 
were driving in, and Pearlie jumped so unceremoniously 
into my lap — that Mr. Hunsworth was murdered on the 
same night that the lodge burned down.^^ 

^‘Do you suppose there could have been any connection 
between the two events asked Eena. 

^‘I believe it was thought not, at the time; but the whole 
thing was enwrapped in so much mystery, that nothing 
could be clearly made out. There is mamma calling us; 
she thinks we have been out long enough with the fire-flies 
and the deer. You must play for mamma, Eena, when we 
go in; she is passionately fond of music.^^ 

At Lady Blanche's request, Eena went at once to the 
piano, where they joined Lady Glenhampton and Miss 
Clive in the drawing-room, and played some of BeethoveiTs 
grandest music with a brilliancy of execution and delicacy 
of touch that surprised the countess, who had looked for 
nothing more than the ordinary proficiency of a school- 
girl. 

^^Well, mamma, cried Lady Blanche, triumphantly, 
when Eena had been warmly thanked for her music, and 
had retired to her own rooms to seek the slumber she so 
much needed, ‘^what do you think of my friend, Eena Per- 
cival? IsnT she all that I represented her?^^ 

^^She^s very beautiful, my love, and very attractive/^ 
answered Lady Glenhampton, ‘^and she will prove a charm- 
ing companion for you, I have no doubt. What do you say, 
Antonia?^^ turning to Miss Clive, who sat motionless by the 
piano. 

like her looks, said Miss Clive, quietly. ^‘There is 
something of a resemblance between her and Blanche. Did 
not you perceive it, Edith 

Lady Glenhampton smiled with a little complacent 
superiority. 

^‘They are both darkcomplexioned, and nearly of a height, 
that is all. I scarcely think that any one would discover a 
genuine likeness between this young girl, who is destined 
one day to earn her own living, in a subordinate capacity, 
and Lord Glenhampton^s only daughter,^^ 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


95 


^^Nevertheless, they do look alike/' said Miss Clive, with 
calm persistency. 

'^Except that I am not half so pretty as Eena/^ said Lady 
Blanche, with the ingenuous championship of a schoolgirPs 
affection. 

Lady Glenhampton smiled again, as she passed her hand 
fondly over Blanche's graceful head. 

prefer my own little daughter, she said. 

^^But you will love Eena, mamma, for my sake?^^ 

^‘For your sake, dear, yes. Now go to bed, for you have^ 
had a long and fatiguing day, and I don^t want you to look 
pale and fagged out when Ernest comes home.^^ 

In the meantime, Eena Percival, left at last to her slum- 
bers by Mademoiselle Marienne, who had insisted on un- 
braiding and brushing out her hair, putting away all the 
garments she had worn, and even laying out her pretty 
embroidered . night dress, lay among her lace trimmed pil- 
lows, musing upon the new atmosphere into which she had 
so suddenly descended, as it were, from a world that seemed 
almost to belong to another sphere. 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE HAUKTED TOWER. 

^^Blanche! Blanche! are you up yet?^^ 

^^I haven^t even thought of such a thiLg/^ answered a 
drowsy voice from Lady Blanche Arden^s pillows. ‘TPs so 
delightful not to be roused by the clang of that hideous 
school-bell, but to lie in bed just as long as one wishes. 
Come in, Rena, and tell me what has made you rise with 
the robins. 

And she threw her arms affectionately around the neck of 
the beautiful young girl who stood there in her white wrap- 
per and blue' ndbb^ons, as fresh as the glowing summer 
morning^s self. 

“Curiosity, I suppose, said Rena, returning the caress 
with interest; “though, by the way, your ornithological 
knowledge — Miss Trowbridge isiPt here to correct me, if I 
make a mistake in pronouncing the big words — is in error. 
The robins have been up warbling their little hearts out, 
ay, and the larks and thrushes, too, these four hours. 

“What do you mean by curiosity?’^ asked Lady Blanche, 
sitting up in bed, and ringing the bell for her attendant. 

“Didn^t you promise last night, you forgetful Blanche, 
that you would take me all over the Castle to-day, and show 
me the marvels thereof, including the family ghost 

“But I didiiT say before breakfast; and besides, added 
Blanche, gravely, “the family ghost, if there is one, never 
gets up until everybody else has gone to bed!^^ 

“If cried Rena; “as if there could be any doubt on the 
subject. Every respectable old family in England ought to 
have a ghost! Come, Blanche, donT be lazy; remember 
what a pitch my expectations are wrought up to!^^ 

“I shall have to send for Dame Wadesleigh and the keys,’' 
said Blanche, doubtfully. “I don’t think I could find the 
way through all the corridors in the towers myself unless I 
had a compass along.” 

“Send for her then, at once!” 

And Lady Blanche found herself borne resistlessly along 
in the current of Reiia Percival’s ardor and determination. 

Mrs. Wadesleigh, who was deep in the mysteries of pre- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


97 


serving, down stairs, willingly delegated her duties to an 
upper servant, and changing her gingham gown for one of 
black stuff more suited to the dignity of a cicerone, possessed 
herself of an enormous key basket, and prepared to attend 
the young ladies on their journey of inspection. 

^‘TheiVs no place in the country so well worth seeing as 
Glenhampton Castle,^' she said, complacently adjusting her 
frilled cap-borders, ^^and so the visitors all say, although my 
lady doesn^t like to have the castle shown when she is at 
home 

^‘And thereby you miss many half crowns, I suppose?’^ 
said Lady Blanche. 

‘‘You are wrong there. Lady Blanche,^' said Mrs. Wade- 
sleigh, “for your mamma is good enough to allow the pic- 
ture-gallery and the grand saloon and the conservatories to 
be thrown open to visitors every Tuesday and Friday.^^ 

“It^s very fortunate for us then that this is Saturday, 
observed Lady Blanche, “as there is no knowing how many 
cockney tourists, or sight-seeing bridal couples we might 
encounter on the great stairway. 

Mrs. Wadesleigh led the way through a marble paved 
court to the chapel, once used as a place of worship by the 
Glenhamptons of a century ago, but now merely an orna- 
mental accessory to the castle. The young girls stood in 
silence, scarcely hearing Mrs. Wadesleigh^s voluble descrip- 
tions. Somehow the solemn influences of the spot checked 
their girlish mirth, and they were not sorry to be conducted 
into the tapestry-hung rooms adjoining, draped with em- 
broideries, which still glowed brilliantly, though the fingers 
of the high-born dames who had wrought the silken buds 
and blossoms had long moldered into dust; the picture- 
gallery, with its floor of waxed oaken boards, and dome of 
white glass overhead; the library with its gothic cases filled 
with rare and costly volumes, and the frescoed ceilings, the 
work of an ancient artist of repute; and the series of recep- 
tion-rooms, by which the grand saloon was approached, 
were all visited, in their turn, and Mrs. Wadesleigh was 
about to proceed to the upper apartments of the castle when 
Kena interposed. “But the ghost! I havenT seen the 
ghost yetl^^ 

“It^s the eastern tower as is said to be ^aunted, miss,” 
said the housekeeper, whose language, generally correct and 
appropriate enough, invariably became confused as to “hV^ 


08 


TBE WIDOWED BUlDE, 


when she assumed the duties of a guide to any one who de- 
sired to see Glenhampton Castle. ‘‘It^s the ghost of Lady 
Beatrix Arden, who died the night afore her &idal, and was 
said to be murdered by the jealousy of her younger sister as 
loved the gentleman, too, and walks, half dressed in black, 
with her '’air streamin' down her back, and a red gash 
h'across her throat " 

^^Hush, hush, Wadesleigh!" interrupted Lady Blanche, 
with a slight shiver; ^‘what absurd nonsense all that is I" 

^^Habsurd or not habsurd, my lady," said Mrs. Wades- 
leigh, somewhat affronted. ^^Fve spoken with them as has 
seen the happarition there themselves!" 

‘^But you never saw it yourself?" 

^^No. But that's no reason why I never shall, my lady." 

She was leading the way across the oblong gallery which 
connects the modern portion of the castle with the frowning 
turrets of the eastern tower, whose square, glowing propor- 
tions, destitute of the least effort at ornament, contrasted 
strongly with the elaborate architecture of the former. 

^‘This is the hapartment," she said, in a low tone, as she 
fitted a huge rusty-looking key into its niche, ^^where Mr. 
Hunsworth's corpse was took, when they brought it in, 
and 

She uttered a loud shriek, and nearly fell back upon the 
girls, for as the great door swung slowly back, a tall, black 
figure swept across the twilight darkness of the shuttered 
room, and vanished at the opposite door. 

"‘It's the ghost! it's the ghost!" she gasped. “Oh, Lady 
Blanche! them as doubts the supernatural halways has haw- 
ful warnin's! You'll believe me now; but I do 'ope it don't 
mean no ill-luck to the family." 

“Nonsense!" said Lady Blanche, courageously, although 
Rena stood still, with a pale cheek and a beating heart; 
"‘it s only Miss Clive. Mamma says she often comes here 
to the place where her lover lay before his remains were 
committed to the burial-ground." 

“She must ha' come through the keyhole, then," said 
Mrs. Wadesleigh, incredulously, “for I keeps the keys in 
my own room, safe and secure, where no mortal bein' could 
get at 'em." 

“She has a key to the little postern — that's how it hap- 
pens. No, no, Wadesleigh, your ghost won't bear inspec- 
tion." 


THE WIDOWED BRIDK 


99 


what made her glide away like she was afraid of 
livin^ creators still persisted the housekeeper. 

^^She never likes to be seen here. You know how pecu- 
liar she is, Wadesleigh.'^^ 

^^It^s give me a turn as I shall not get over for a week/’ 
panted Mrs. Wadesleigh, putting her plump hand to her 
side; but Lady Blanche slipped past her, and hurried 
through the door, beneath whose heavily arched portals the 
black form had vanished, and Rena followed her. 

Swift as thought the two fair young girls hastened down 
gloomy corridors, past arched gate ways, and out through a 
postern entrance into the air and sunshine. 

Antonia Clive stood there motionless, with her hands 
folded, and a dark kerchief wrapped round her head. 

^^Miss Clive,’' said Blanche, eagerly, ^^was it you we saw 
in the octagon room, just now?” 

^‘What brings you young things into this place of gloom 
and shadows?” Miss Clive demanded, sadly. 

‘‘But was it you? Mrs. Wadesleigh, poor old soul, would 
have it, that it was nothing less than the ghost of Lady 
Beatrix, who died a hundred years ago.” 

“It was I,” Miss Clive answered, calmly. 

“Then I shall go back and spoil the poor old woman’s 
delightful little ghost story,” laughed Lady Blanche; and 
Mrs. Wadesleigh was forced, unwillingly, to abandon her 
theory of supernatural visitations, so far as that particular 
morning was concerned. 

The countess was sitting at her drawing-room window, as 
Rena and Blanche returned after their inspection of the 
Castle. 

“Well, Miss Percival,” she said, smiling, “have you en- 
joyed your ramble?’ ’ 

“Yes,” said Rena, sinking down on a low divan opposite, 
and letting her roses fall into her lap, “I suppose I have.” 

“You suppose so?” echoed Lady Glenhampton, somewhat 
surprised. 

“I cannot tell whether it was enjoyment or not,” said 
Rena, pressing her hand to her forehead. “Of course, I 
admired the beautiful pictures, and marbles, and furniture, 
but, as I passed through some of those rooms, the strangest 
sensation would steal over me, almost as if I was walking in 
a vision. Lady Glenhampton” — with her dark eyes fixed 
with pleading earnestness on the countess’ high-bred fea- 


100 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


tures— ^‘did you ever dream of a place; and then afterward 
recognize it when you saw it? I have dreamed of this 
Castle/^ 

^^It is probably the force of some forgotten association or 
resemblance/^ said Lady Glenhampton, with superior wis- 
dom, almost verging upon contempt. ‘^All old castles are 
more or less alike. 

^‘But I never have seen any old. castles except Glenhamp- 
ton, so that I could not possibly have any associations con- 
nected with tlietn.^^ 

Lady Gleuhampton looked with some curiosity at Kena. 

^^Tell me about your previous life, my dear,^^ she said, 
with a sort of languid interest. daughter tells me 

you have spent many years at Miss Hartford^s establish- 
ment.^^ 

^‘Nearly ten, I believe.^' 

^'And where did you live before you came to Hartford 
Lodge?” 

'Gn London.” Kena answered, beginningto grow restless 
under this courteous cross-questioning. 

‘To what profession did your father belong?” 

“I have no recollection, whatever, of my father,” said 
Kena, beginning to feel uneasy. 

“Indeed? And to whose care were you committed?” 

“To that of my grandfather.^ 

“And is he living?” 

“No, Lady Glenhampton.” 

“Have you any other relations than the sister, of whom 
Blanche has told me?” 

Rena shook her head. 

“You see. Lady Glenhampton,” she said, with a little 
forced laugh, which betokened annoyance rather than 
amusement, “you can hardly expect every one to hold up 
to your inspection a long line of ancestry as complete and 
unbroken as the family tree of the Glenhamptons.” 

The countess was a woman of tact, and she asked no more 
questions. 

“Miss Percival has something to conceal,” she said to 
herself; “she does not like to be asked of her previous life. 

I almost wish Blanche had selected some other of Miss 
Hartford^s pupils to be her friend.” 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


101 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

VISITORS FROM LOKDOK. 

Eena Percival was sitting at her desk writing a long and 
circumstantial letter to her sister, Alice, on the evening of 
the third day after her arrival at Glenhampton Castle, when 
Lady Blanche came up to her room. 

‘•The post has just come in, my dear,^^ she said, throwing 
herself into one of the pink satin chairs. 

“He has not brought me any letters, I suppose, said 
Eena, closing her portfolio, with a little sigh, for her friend 
had evidently come with the intention of having, what Miss 
Hartford^s pupils termed, “a good, old-fashioned chat.^^ 

“But he has me, Eena; a nice, long one, from Ernest. 

Lady Blanche's cheek was flushed with innocent pleasure, 
and her soft eyes sparkled like dewy stars. 

“And what does Captain Evelyn say?^^ asked Eena. 

“That he will be here to-morrow, without fail, with Mr. 
Alkenard and Lord Vere Temple.’^ 

“And which of them is it in whom you are so vitally 
interested asked Eena, mischievously. 

The rose on Lady Blanche's cheek fired into a vivid car- 
mine. 

“'What makes you think 1 am interested in either of 
them?^^ asked she, laughing. 

“Your own tell-tale face, my Blanche. Come— out with 
it — you know you are hiding a secret away from me, and 
that is point-blank against the rules and regulations of our 
friendships^ 

“I believe you are a witch, EenaS^ 

“Of course I am — the only wonder is that you haven't 
found it out before. Is it Mr. Alkenard?'^ 

“Ho — it is Lord Vere Temple,'' said Blanche, coming 
close to Eena and leaning over her shoulder with caressing 
touch, so that Eena's penetrating eyes should no longer de- 
cipher the sly secret of her heart, 

“Are you engaged?" 

“Yes — no— I can hardly tell which. It was only a boy 
and girl love affair when we were both children, but mam- 
ma is pleased with him, and I believe Lord Temple, his 


102 


THE WIDOWED BBIDE. 


father, likes me a little, and so — unless we both change our 
minds . 

^^Aha!^’ said Kena, pulling down the fair, blushing face, 
until Blanche's hazel eyes were on a level with her own. 
^^And it is all settled, is it? And you never told me one 
word about itP 

‘^Because it was so uncertain, dearest Eena, and I don’t 
think I ought to hav-e told you now — it is Vere’s secret more 
than mine — only you see you found it out.” 

^"Because I am a witch,” said Rena, gravely. he 

handsome?” 

^‘Yes, very — not dark, like you and me, but a regular 
Saxon face, with gold-brown curls and dark-blue eyes, and 
sweetest smile you ever saw.” 

‘^And is he good enough for my little Blanchette?” 

“Too good, Rena,” said Blanche, wdth innocent fervor. 
^‘1 sometimes fear I am too silly and trifling to make him 
happy. Oh, if I were as accomplished, and talented, and 
brilliant as you are, Rena!” 

^'Blanche,” said Rena, gravely, ^flt’s very evident that you 
are in love.” 

am afraid I am,” said Blanche, with the disconcerted 
air of one convicted in some crime. 

^‘^But who is this Mr. Alkenard. 

^^He is a young barrister, I believe — Ernest’s friend. I 
have never seen him. Mamma says we must get up boating 
parties and croquet parties, and all sorts of expeditions to 
amuse them.” 

^^You will be quite enough amusement for Lord Vere 
Temple, I imagine,” said Rena, laughing. 

^‘But the others?” 

" AVhy / must try my best to keep them from absolutely 
dying of enmd, that’s all.” 

“1 am so glad you are here, Rena, darling,” said Blanche, 
nearly strangling her friend with an enthusiastic hug. ‘‘But 
mamma is talking about dinner parties and a ball, and in- 
viting hosts of parties from neighboring places. Mamma is 
so fond of Ernest.” 

Lady Blanche accompanied her mother on a round of 
visits that afternoon, and Rena stood on the steps to see 
them drive away, her lovely lips wreathed in smiles as she 
wished them a pleasant journey. 

But the smiles died away as the horses dashed round 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


103 


the graveled lawn and disappeared beneath the drooping 
elm branches whicJi overhung the broad swoop of the 
avenue. 

^^Lady Glenhampton does not ask me to go/^she thought, 
with a bitter curl to her lips. ^^She does not think I am a 
fitting person to introduce to the county familes; and when 
Blanche, in the innocent kindness of her heart, asked me to 
accompany them, my lady put on that hollow society smile 
of hers, and ^feared it would be a very uninteresting drive 
to Miss Percival!^ I wonder if it ever occurred to her 
ladyship that it would be better to make a friend rather 
than an enemy, even of an embryo governess! Wait a 
while, my Lady Glenhampton; perhaps my turn may come 
next!"^ 

With these bitter reflections corroding her heart, Rena 
Percival put on her white-ribboned hat, and walked out into 
the green and shady recesses of the park, for she felt as if 
the confinement of four walls would suffocate her. 

^Gt is a relief to be alone, at least,'’’ she thought, with a 
sort of passionate resentment at her heart. 

But even this poor consolation was to be denied her, it 
seemed; for in the greenest and coolest and most secluded 
recess of the park, close to the wire fence over which the 
dappled deer, who had never been taught to fear the appa- 
rition of humanity, came and peeped at her with shy, liquid 
eyes and quivering nostrils, she came suddenly upon a gen- 
tleman walking slowly along, with his broad-brimmed straw 
hat in his hand, so that the fresh breeze could fan his fore- 
head. 

He was tall, with dark hair and eyes, and a slight, well- 
made-figure, and at the first glance Rena could hardly tell 
whether he was old, young, or middle-aged. 

‘G beg your pare! on, he said, with polished courtesy, as 
she involuntarily started. ^G hope I have not alarmed Miss 
Percival.'’^ 

So he knew who she was. 

Rena took courage and looked him full in the face. 

^^Are you Captain Evelyn?^’ she asked, with a sudden 
thought that the travelers might possibly have arrived sooner 
than they had expected. 

^G have not that honor, he said, with a smile. ^G am 
only Mr. Poynings, the family lawyer, of whom you have, 
perhaps, heard the ladies at the Castle speak. 


104 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


said Eena, recalling one or two casual allusions 
which she had heard. 

'‘I hope Lady Blanche and the countess are quite well?^^ 
he asked. 

^"Quite, I believe — thank you.^^ 

had intended to call ere this/’ said Mr. Poynings, 
walking along by her side, ^‘but we business men are not 
always masters of our own time. Perhaps this after- 
noon 

‘‘They are not at home/^ interrupted Rena, rather 
brusquely; “they have both gone out to pay visits this af- 
ternoon.’^ 

“In that case, I must postpone the pleasure until some 
other time,^^ said Mr. Poynings, smoothly. “But pardon 
the seeming impertinence of the question, Miss Percival. I 
hope you are not lost in them labyrinths of sylvan paths. 
Are you aw'are of how far you have strayed from the Cas- 
tle r 

“I know it is some distance, said Rena, independently; 
“but I wanted a good long walk. Which path will take 
me with most directness to the house 

“If you are not well acquainted with the vicarage, I donT 
know whether I could tell you with sufficient accuracy,^^ re- 
turned Mr. Poynings. “Will you allow me the pleasure of 
becoming your guide — for a part of the way, at least. 

“I do not wish to trouble you,^^ said Rena, in a tone 
which evidently meant: “I wish you would be good enough 
to mind your own business.’^ 

But Mr. Poynings chose only to accept the surface signi- 
fication of the words. 

“It will not be the least trouble, he said, blandly; “on 
the contrary, I shall regard it as a pleasure. I suppose from 
the question you first asked me,^^ he added, as they walked 
along, “that Captain Evelyn is soon expected down from 
London?^’ 

“Yes — with Mr. Alkenard and Lord Vere Temple.” 

Mr. Poynings’ natural complexion appeared to be pale, 
but a curious flush rose to his cheek bones as she spoke, and 
a peculiar cast in one of liis eyes, gone almost as soon as it 
had appeared, gave a momentarily unpleasant expression to 
his face. 

“He dislikes one of them,” thought Rena. “I wonder 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


105 


which it is? It^s always useful to be in possession of other 
people^s secrets/^ 

He walked with her as far as the foot of the terrace, mak- 
ing himself exceedingly agreeable in spite of the first im- 
pression Miss Percival received of his presence. But Kena 
believed in first impressions — she was not often mistaken in 
them, and she was a skillful reader of the faces of others. 

^Hle talks well,'’^ she thought, as she entered the house, 
^*but I shall not like Mr. PoyningsT 
She took the opportunity to ask Blanche about him when 
next they were together alone. 

‘^Mr. PoyningsT' cried Blanche. ^^How funny that you 
should have come across him in that romantic sort of a way! 
Don^t be vexed, Kena dear; but suppose — only suppose he 
should be your future fate! The young people always meet 
in that fashion in novels, you know!^’ 

^^As if 1 would stoop to a village lawyer!^’ said Rena, 
haughtily. 

^^But he^s very nice, Kena, and has a very respectable in- 
come, and is one of mammals prime favorites. He was poor 
Mr. Hunsworth^s clerk or partner, or something, and suc- 
ceeded to the whole of his business, and mamma has recom- 
mended him to a great many of the county families. 

"‘He cannot be very young, said Kena, still disdainful. 
“But he is very gentlemanly and intelligent!^^ persisted 
Blanche. “Darling Kena, I hope I have not vexed you.^' 
“What a ridiculous idea!’^ said Kena, laughing, and fully 
recovering her equanimity. “Yes, he is gentlemanly and 
intelligent, and he is coming to call on you. Now tell me 
about the people you saw and the places you went to.^’ 

But while Blanche talked, Rena’s wandering thoughts were 
busy with the future visitors — what they would be like, 
whether they would admire her own piquant beauty, whether 
their presence would but infuse new brightness into this 
beautiful life at Glenhampton Castle! And she answered 
Blanche at random, and hardly knew Avhen the young 
daughter of the house went back into her own rooms. 

She made Marienne arrange her hair over and over again 
the next afternoon, until that damsel was nearly in despair, 
and finally tore it all down itself, brushed and coiled it back, 
after the simplest fashion, with a cluster of natural curls 
hanging On one side. 


106 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


mademoiselle^ that is not fashionable!^^ pleaded 
Marienne. 

^^No matter; it is becomming. Isow give me the white 
dress, and that is all I shall want of you/'’ 

For Kena Percrval had decided that in her case ^^beauty 
unadorned adorned the most/^ and she judged rightly. She 
was a skillful little diplomatist in her way, moreover, and 
she had resolved to see the new-comers before she herself was 
seen, so she remained in her own room until toward sunset, 
and then sauntered leisurely down into the west drawing- 
room, where windows commanded a view of one end of the 
terrace and the grounds below. 

Yes, the expected guests had arrived. Kena saw the group 
clustered beneath the shadow of a Venetian awning, as she 
stood behind the sweep of the lace curtains. Lady Glen- 
hampton, in her exquisite wine-colored silk, and lace scarf, 
the jewels flashing on her arms and brow, stood talking to a 
slight young man with blonde mustache and closely cut hair. 
Mr. Hugh Alkenard, Kena decided it must be, for Lady 
Blanche sat on a garden seat beyond with a young gentle- 
man, whose personal appearance coincided in every particu- 
lar with the description she had given of Lord Vere Temple, 
hanging over her after a very devoted fashion, and she in- 
stantly recognized, from his resemblance to Lady Glenhamp- 
ton, the handsome youth who leaned against a pillar, v/ith 
raven black hair, jetty eyelashes, and a face of almost effem- 
inate beauty. 

^‘He is the handsomest of them all,^’ Kena inwardly de- 
cided. 

She sat down in an attitude so graceful that one would 
scarcely have dreamed how elaborately she had studied it, 
and opened a blue and gold volume of poems — a sort of ex- 
cuse for the dreamy reverie into which she allowed herself 
to subside. 

Kena Percival was not naturally a schemer, but the world 
has not sufficient charity for those who are obliged to flght 
their own battles. How often did she look at innocent 
Blanche Arden with an actual feeling of envy for the posi- 
tion which placed her so far above the plotting and planning 
which she herself scorned, even while she was forced to 
practice it. Since she could remember, the truism had 
always been impressed on her mind, over and over again. 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 107 

that she had her own way to make in the world. And now 
who could consistently blame her for her best to make it. 

Consequently when Captain Evelyn came in^ followed by 
the rest of the group, the beautiful young girl, gazelle-eyed 
and features like a Circassian damsel, who reclined so grace- 
fully upon the white silk sofa, with her book lying in her 
lap, struck upon his vision almost like some supernaturally 
lovely tableaux. 

beg your pardon,'^ he said, receding somewhat awk- 
wardly, yet with the chivalrous respect he might have 
awarded to a royal princess, — I wasn^t aware my mother 
had a visitor. 

^^Don^t tread so cruelly on my toes, you stupid Ernest, 
said Lady Blanche, laughing merrily, ^‘^but let me come in, 
so that I can introduce you to my dear friend. Miss Percival. 
Kena, this is my brother. Captain Evelyn, and these are his 
friends, Mr. Alkenard and Lord Vere Temple.'^ 

And Rena received them with as much grace and self- 
possession as if she had been in the habit of daily consorting 
with eldest sons of viscounts, officers in Her Majesty^s dra- 
goons and London barristers. Captain Evelyn, evidently 
struck with the beauty of his sister^s friend, sat down beside 
her and commenced an animated conversation at once, his 
face lighting up with a new expression totally different from 
the languor which had characterized his features up to that 
time. 

Lady Glenhampton noticed it all, even while she was 
talking with her customary vivacity to Mr. Alkenard, and 
she bit her scarlet lower lip. 

had no idea the little serpent was so dangerous, said 
she to herself, ‘‘but I believe Ernest is too well seasoned 
with the atmosphere of London ball-rooms to allow himself 
to be drawn into a flirtation with a girl who is destined to 
be a governess. Let her amuse him while she is here — it 
cannot be for long.'’^ 

“Ernest, said the countess’ soft voice, during a momen- 
tary pause in the conversation, “I have promised you for 
to-morrow.” 

“Who is to be the lessee, mother?” asked her son, with a 
slight elevation of his handsome black eyebrows. 

“Lady Barrington is to have a croquet party at The Oaks, 
and she counts on my young people to swell her number of 
players.” 


108 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


^‘Croquet is a bore/' said Captain Evelyn/ ^‘but in agree- 
able society 

^^Stella Barrington has grown very handsome/^ observed 
Lady Glenhampton, ^^and Miss Armitage is to be there 
also/^ 

^Gn that case/^ yawned Captain Evelyn, ^^it will proba- 
bly be endurable/' 

Mr. Poynings, who had been invited by the countess to 
join their party at dinner, came in at that moment, and his 
presence created a sort of diversion, during which Lady 
Barrington and her croquet party were forgotten for the 
time being. And Kena discovered that even while sur- 
rounded by the young Londoners, fresh from a society 
which is supposed to be the cream of the civilized world, 
Mr. Poynings could and did make himself marvelously 
agreeable. 

^^Am I mistaken, said Rena, in a low voice, to Captain 
Evelyn, after the dessert had been placed on the table, ‘^or 
does Mr. Poynings really admire your sister Blanche?’^ 

Captain Evelyn stared at her in amazement. 

‘•Because he seems so devoted to her,^'' Rena added, inno- 
cently. 

“Certainly not,^^ said Captain Evelyn, drawing himself 
up with hauteur. “I should like to see Poynings presume 
to admire Lady Blanche Arden, Why the man is nothing 
but an attorney!^'' 

“Mr. Alkenard is only a barrister. 

“But there^s a difference, you know; and Alkenard is 
connected with the Alkenards of Nottinghampshire, one of 
the best families in England. You are mistaken. Miss Per- 
civa). Poynings is a very nice sort of a fellow, and received 
a good deal into society around here, but he never would 
dream of such a piece of pretension. That insinuating 
manner of his is natural to him; he would be just as cour- 
teous to old AVadesleigh, if she happened to sit next to him 
at dinner. 

“I am so unaccustomed to society,^’ said Rena, with art- 
ful simplicity, “and you must pardon me if I have said any- 
thing terrible. It takes me so long to understand the arti- 
ficial distinctions you great people have.’’^ 

“Do you call yourself a little people, then?^^ asked Cap- 

tain Evelyn, much amused. 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


109 


^^Very little, indeed; so little that your mother and 
Blanche oddly tolerate me out of kindness/^ 

She looked up at him with soft, appealing eyes, and Cap- 
tain Evelyn thought, with a tumultuous throb at his heart, 
what a very charming girl this friend of his sister was. 

Kena read in his face the impression she had succeeded 
in making, and her spirit inwardly rejoiced. 

^^We will see whether I cannot be quits with you yet, my 
Lady Glenhampton,^"' she thought to herself. wonder if 
he has much property of his own, though, of course, the 
son of the Countess of Glenhampton cannot be a poor man.^' 

The reader wdll perceive that Rena Percivahs scheming 
propensities were in full flower even at this early period of 
her contact with the great maneuvering world. 

^‘What shall you wear to-morrow, Rena?^' asked Blanche, 
when, as usual, she came to her friend^s room, after the 
drawing-room circle had broken up for the night, 
do not think I shall go,^^ Rena answered. 

^^Notgo! Dear Rena, why not 

Rena was silent for an instant; she could not grieve 
Blanche’s affectionate heart by saying to her, “Your mother 
has not invited me to be of the party.'’ 

“Blanche,’’ she said, “you know all these people are 
strangers to me. I would rather not go out much until I 
become better acquainted in the neighborhood.” 

“But this is the only way to become acquainted,” pleaded 
Blanche. 

“No matter, I would rather not go.” 

And not all Blanche’s entreaties and expostulations could 
induce her to swerve from the settled determination. 

Lady Glenhampton had laid her plans with systematic 
foresight to exclude Miss Percival from the croquet party. 
She had not even acquainted Lady Barrington with the fact 
that her daughter had a friend staying with her — but when, 
the next day. Lord Vere Temple was prevented from ac- 
companying "the rest by a severe nervous headache, she could 
not help being a little amazed. 

“Miss Percival.” she said, sweetly, “would you oblige me 
by copying out this piece of manuscript music to-day? I 
have promised it to a friend of mine in London by this 
evening’s mail, and unless you will kindly give me the 
benefit of your skill, I fear I shall be unable to keep my 


no iHE WIDOWED BRIDE, 

word. I know it will be exceedingly tedious, but you are 
so kind.'' 

‘^1 will do it with the greatest pleasure, dear Lady Glen- 
hampton,^’ said Eena, looking up into the countess’ face 
with the sweetest of smiles. ^‘1 am very fond of copying 
music, and it will serve to pass away the long day while you 
are gone.” 

And Lady Glenhampton, secretly rejoicing that she had 
invented such an excellent pretext for keeping her daugh- 
ter’s friend occupied in her own room all day, never once 
imagined that those dark eyes read all her thoughts and 
fancies as completely as if they were written out on paper 
before her. 

Lady Glenhampton had scarcely given Miss Percival 
credit for the ingenuity and determination of her real char- 
acter. 

^^It’s no end of a bore your having a headache to-day. 
Temple,” said Captain Evelyn, as he stood in his friend’s 
apartment lighting a perfumed cigarette, ‘^and I’ve a great 
mind to stay at home with you.” 

^^By no means,” said Lord Vere, earnestly. am bet- 
ter by myself — these things always wear away toward even- 
ing, and I shouldn’t be surprised if I joined you yet.” 

^‘Honestly,” said Captain Evelyn, with the cigarette in 
his mouth, ‘‘1 don’t believe the sport will pay for the candle 
so far as the croquet party is concerned.” 

^^But Lady Glenhampton wishes it, and a man must pay 
some attention to the exigencies of society. Go along; they 
are calling you, and there’s no sense in your standing dawd- 
ling here.” 

And while Lord Vere Temple lay on the sofa in a dark- 
ened room, dozing and meditating by turns, until the sharp 
pains in his brow grew less and less frequent, Eena Percival 
was working away in her own apartment with a rapidity 
which was born of natural efficiency added to great prac- 
tice. She had copied all the music needed at Hartford 
Lodge, and thus acquired a skill which was advantageous at 
this moment, and by the middle of the afternoon she suc- 
ceeded in triumphantly completing the scores which Lady 
Glenhampton had confidently allotted to her as a full day’s 
work. 

^^There,” thought Rena, as she flung aside the pen, and 
threw the drooping black ringlets aside from her forehead. 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


111 


^^All work and no play makes J ack a dull boy. Fve finished 
my work, and now for the play.'^ 

She arranged her hair after the most becomingly uncon- 
scious fashion, belted her white dress with a crimson silk 
cord, and went down into the library, whither, about an 
hour previously, she had heard footsteps languidly descend- 
ing. 

Lord Yere Temple, lounging in a leather covered arm- 
chair, over a folio volume of mediaeval engravings, started 
at the sight of such an apparition of beauty and fresh- 
ness. 

She hesitated an instant, with charming uncertainty; but 
Lord Yere rose at once. 

^‘DonT let me frighten you away. Miss Percival,^^ he said. 
^Tf you knew what stupid company I was for myself, you 
would begin by pitying me, and end by staying to bear me 
companionship.^^ 

came for a book,^^ said Rena; ‘T did not know you 
were here.^' 

^^That is not a very special compliment to me,^^ he said, 
his eyes fixed with involuntary admiration on her beauti- 
ful face. 

^‘But I meant I was not aware you were well enough to 
come down.^’ 

^^My head is better, thanks, and solitude is my complaint 
just at present. Suppose you remain to act the part of 
physician. 

He drew forward a low, luxuriously cushioned chair as he 
he spoke, and Rena seated herself, as if the question really 
were not worth her while to debate any longer. 

^‘But you have not told me yet why you are not with the 
rest of the croquet players, he said, as he resumed his arm- 
seat. 

Rena raised her soft, liquid eyes to his face with a glance 
half deprecation, half appeal. 

^^Shall I tell you the real reason she asked. 

^^Of course. 

^^But I donT know whether I ought to.-^^ 

absolve you from all doubts at once. Let us have the 
^real reason.^ 

*^Lady Glenhampton did not ask me.'^ 

^^Not ask youP he echoed, in surprise. 

^Terhaps I ought not to have expected it/^ Kena added. 


THE WIDOWED BEIDK 


iia 

with a pretty assumption of candor; ^^bnt — but it is hard 
to be excluded from the pleasures in which all others par- 
ticipate. I dare say I shall get used to it in time^ how- 
ever/^ 

And she sighed — a sigh as soft and low as the echo of a 
rose-freighted zephyr^ and let her lovely eyes droop a trifle 
more. 

‘‘But Blanche? Surely she 

“Blanche was anxious that I should go. Blanche is all 
kindness and generosity. She has not yet learned the 
world’s hollow lesson of expediency; but I could not go on 
her invitation. Nay/’ she added, with a smile, “do not 
look so annoyed, or I shall be sorry I told you. I am not 
an earFs daughter, and perhaps it is better that I should 
learn at once the place I am destined to occupy in the 
world. 

The role of gentle 'resignation was infinitely becoming to 
Miss Percival, and Lord Yere Temple being a man with 
mortal susceptibilities and sensations, could not help think- 
ing how wondrously pretty this injured beauty was. 

“I canT understand Lady Glenhampton^s policy/’ he said, 
after a momen/s silence, “but I, at least, ought to be very 
thankful for any circumstance that has procured me the 
pleasure of companionship like yours. 

And Miss Percival, as she could do whenever she chose to 
attempt it, made herself an exceedingly charming com- 
panion, so much so that the hours crept away without Lord 
Yere being aware of the progress of time, and when, just 
at nightfall, Lady Glenhampton, who was the first of the 
returned party to seek out the invalid of the morning, en- 
tered the library, she was struck dumb w'ith astonishment 
and indignation to see him comfortably seated on the sofa, 
with a volume of engravings in his lap, on which were 
drooping the dark curls of Miss Rena Percival. 


TMX WIDOWED BRIDE. 


113 


CHAPTEK XV. 

THE KECTORY OF TREGARYAIT, 

The midday sun was shining gloriously over the range of 
hills, which slope precipitously down to one of the loveliest 
sea-coasts on all the Cardiganshire shore, when the rude„ 
yet not uncomfortable, jaunting-car, which had met Alice 
Percival at the obscure railway station, rumbled up to Tre- 
garvan Rectory, a long, low building, with a slated roof, 
picturesque stacks of vine-draped chimneys, and latticed 
windows, completely vailed in clusters of blossoming roses. 
A low stone wall surrounded the space of cultivated ground 
which adjoined the dwelling; and, through yew trees and 
elms beyond, was just visible the spire of the pretty little 
church, an edifice of reddish stone, with projecting but- 
tresses of some darker material. 

Alice Percival was very weary; she had been traveling 
ever since early morning, and a part of the previous day, 
yet a feeling ci pleasure thrilled her heart at the sight of 
this picturesque spot, which was probably to be her future 
residence. 

‘T know I shall like Tregarvan Rectory, she thought, as 
the car stopped in front of the rose covered porch, and a 
sweet, matronly looking woman, of about forty, came out 
to receive her. Alice could only see that her hair and eyes 
were of a bright brown, and her figure plump and comfort- 
able to look upon, before she found herself warmly greeted 
and welcomed to Tregarvan. 

am Mrs. Eskett,^^ said the lady, her rosy face beaming 
with hospitable smiles, ‘^and you are Miss Percival. I am 
very glad to see you, my dear. Come in and see my hus- 
band and your little pupils, who have been watching for 
their governess to come these two hours. 

She led Alice into a low-ceiled room, lighted by oblong 
casements, filled with tiny diamond shaped panes of glass, 
and lined around with books, where, at a table literally 
groaning with volumes, papers, and pamphlets, sat a tall, 
bald-headed man, who wore green spectacles, and had a pen 
sticking in warlike fashion behind each ear. His coat, 
shiny at the seams, and belonging to some antedeluvian cut 


114 


TRE WIDOWED BRIDE 


and pattern, hung loosely on his shoulders, and his middle 
finger was steeped to the very bone in ink. 

^'Ealph,^^ said Mrs. Eskett, ^^this is 

^‘My dear,^"’ interrupted the rector, who looked as if he 
were entrenched behind a complete fortification of books, 
inkstands and sand-boxes. told you, again and again, 

I would not see any of the old women before twelve o'clock. 
How do they suppose Fm to get my sermons written if 

^^But this isn^t an old woman, my dear,^^ laughingly 
interposed Mrs. Eskett. 

^^Is it a man,^^ said the near-sighted rector, peering with 
wrinkled brows over the top of a huge dictionary. ^'Where 
are my glasses? I\e got my sermon spectacles on,^^ and he 
fumbled, helplessly around, sending a drift of sheets of 
paper fiyiug on the floor, like a magnified snow-storm. 
^‘Tell him to go about his business, Theresa, why donT you? 

I canT be bothered in the morning. I have all my inspira- 
tions in the morning. How would they like it, if my ser- 
mons were as flat as stale beer? I tell you I wonT stand itP 

He rumpled up the fringe of reddish gray hair that hung 
over his temples, as he spoke, with the look and manner of 
a baited lion! Mrs. Eskett, apparently quite accustomed 
to his eccentricities, paid no attention, whatever, to them, 
and walked straight up to him, leading Alice by the hand. 
Her first action, when she had fairly entered within the 
folio and quarto fortifications, was to take ofi her liege 
lord’s spectacles. 

^‘Ehl” cried the rector, staring at Miss Percival through 
his protuberated light blue eyes, as if the gift of sight had 
suddenly been bestowed upon him, ^Tt’s a young lady.” 

^‘Of course it is,” said Mrs. Eskett. ‘Tt is Miss Perci- 
val, the governess, whom Miss Hartford was so good as to 
recommend to us.” 

^^How do you do. Miss Percival?” said Mr. Eskett, rising, 
although in the action a leaning tower of books toppled 
over. ^T’m glad to see you — pray don’t mind my bearish- 
ness — nobody does. I hope we shall be able to make you 
happy here. The girls are very nice little girls, and I dare 
say they’ll be obedient.” 

With these words Mr. Eskett sat down again, and began 
to re-collect the scattered sheets of manuscript, while his 
wife led Alice away to the room intended for her. It was» 
a sweet little chamber, under the very eaves of the housQ^ 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


115 


smelling deliciously of sweet clover and dried rose leaves, 
with curtains arid drapery of snow-white homespun linen. 

^^Do you think you shall like it?^^ said Mrs. Eskett, who 
had watched Aliceas face, as she surveyed her new domain. 

^‘Oh, so much!^^ the governess answered, and Mrs. Eskett 
put her arms round her neck and gave her a genial kiss. 

am so glad you are pretty,'’^ said the rector's wife. ^‘1 
like to look at pretty things. 

‘^Am I pretty asked Alice, confused, yet smiling — and 
in the same instant the door opened, and a little head, 
thatched with hair the same reddish color as the fringe 
overhanging the rector^s temples, peeped in. 

^^May me come in, mamma?'^ piped a small voice. 

‘^Yes, come in, rebels,'’^ said Mrs. Eskett, and the owner 
of the head ran into Alice’s arms. 

^^I’m Phebe,” said she; ^‘I’m ugly, but I can learn real 
quick. Emily is pretty, but she can’t say her multiplica- 
tion table. And Agnes is sullen, sometimes.” 

^‘Hush — h — h!” said Mrs. Eskett, holding up a warning 
finger. ^‘Let Miss Percival discover the different character- 
istics of her pupils for herself.” 

And she introduced two girls of eight and nine, who 
proved to be the before-mentioned Emily and Agnes. 

Phebe, the frank little sprite of six, had spoken the truth; 
she was ^^ugly,” as far as personal appearance went, with 
light blue eyes, and hair by courtesy called auburn, the very 
feminine double of the rector of Tregarvan,. while a tress of 
hair, called ^^cow lock,” stood straight up above her fore- 
head, utterly rebellious to hairbrush or pomatum pot, and 
her fair complexion was thickly sown with freckles. Emily, 
the next, was like her mother, regularly featured and 
comely, with hazel eyes and sunny brown hair, while 
Agnes, the eldest, was~a shy child, shrinking behind Mrs. 
Eskett, and scarcely lifting her eyes high enough for Miss 
Percival to perceive that they were of a deep, liquid gray, 
while her hair was nearly black, and her complexion as fresh 
as a wild rose. 

^^ETow, children,” said Mrs. Eskett, when the ceremony 
of introduction had been duly performed, ^'run away and 
leave Miss Percival in peace for a few minutes to unpack 
her things and get ready for dinner. We are old-fashioned 
people, Miss Percival,” she added, with a pleasant smile, 


116 THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 

^^and dine at one o'clock, so you see you have not much 
time to spare." 

And she withdrew with the three little girls in her train, 
while in the hall Alice could hear Phebe's bird-voice chirp- 
ing: 

^^Oh, mamma, I love her so much," and Mrs. EsketPs 
low tone replying; 

^^See that you show it then by being very attentive to 
your lessons and obedient." 

This was an auspicious beginning for Alice in her new 
position, and at the close of the dinner she felt that Phebe's 
favorable impression concerning her was shared by the rec- 
tor and his wife. So courteous, so amiable were they in 
their intercourse with the little governess that ere she had 
passed twenty-four hours in the rectory of Tregarvan, her 
admiration for its inmates found expression in a letter 
which she indited to her sister Rena. This letter she gave 
to the rector, asking him if he would not oblige her by 
sending it to the post-office. 

The rector glanced at the superscription, written in Alice's 
delicate, legible running hand: ‘^Miss Rena Percival, Glen- 
hampton Castle, Glenhampton, Kent," and he started as if 
the visage of some old familiar friend had stared him sud- 
denly in the face. 

^^Glenhampton Castle! Glenhampton!" he repeated. ^Ts 
your sister there. Miss Percival? Upon my word this is a 
very singular coincidence — very! Glenhampton Castle, 
my dear Theresa — you remember!" 

‘T remember that you did curate's duty there one year, 
when you were first engaged to me," said his wife, good 
humoredly; ^^and that I thought his lordship ought to have 
bestowed the St. Hilda's living upon you when the fat old 
incumbent died, seeing that he always professed to be such 
a friend of yours." 

‘^Gently, Theresa, gently," said Mr. Eskett. ^‘Remem- 
ber that it is not always the richest living in which one can 
do the most good. I have never seen any real reason to re- 
gret that I came to Tregarvan, instead of settling down at 
St. Hilda's. And are you acquainted with these Glenhamp- 
tons, my dear?" he asked, turning to Alice. 

know Lady Blanche Arden, the Earl of Glenhamp- 
tou s daughter," Alice answeredj ^^sbe was at school with 


THE WIDOWED B It IDE. 


117 


ns at Hartford Lodge, and it is she that my sister is at pres- 
ent visiting/^ 

^^Strange/^ mattered Mr. Eskett, the eyelids drooping 
over his near-sighted orbs, ^ ^strange. And I had supposed 
that that leaf of my lifers book was closed forever. We 
never know how strangely the threads of existence are inter- 
woven — we call the great loom chance — yet every Christian 
knows that there is no such thing as chance. Yes, it is 
passing strange.'’^ 

^^If you are acquainted with Lady Blanche Arden, of 
course you know the story of the death of the little twin 
babies — the tragedy that filled Glenhampton with gloom for 
so many years, said Mrs. Eskett. 

And as she spoke the same vision rose up before Alice 
Percivafis memory that had fiashed across the mind^s eye of 
her sister as the Glenhampton barouche had rolled past the 
gray portals of St. Hilda^s Church. 

^‘To the memory of Allegra and Katherine, twin daugh- 
ters of Adelbert, Earl of Glenhampton,'^ with the words 
that followed, clear to tell who have loved and lost babe- 
angels: “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid 
them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. 

‘H never heard the story,/' she said, turning to Mrs. Es- 
kett. ^‘Tell me of it, please. Is it a secret?^ 

^^Ealph must tell you,^^ said the rector^s wife, turning to 
her husband. “It all happened while he was a curate at 
St. Hilda^s doing the duty of an absentee rector, who drew 
the income and nursed himself and his gout at Hyeres. 
Don^t shake your dear old head, Ealph — you know it is all 
true, every word of it.^' 

^^Would you like to hear the history of a romance in real 
life. Miss Percival?^' asked Mr. Eskett, mildly. “There 
will be plenty of time to tell it before Thomas comes in to 
get your letter, and as your sister is now sojourning at Glen- 
hampton Castle, it may be interesting to you.^^ 

“I should like it very much,'’^ Alice answered; and then 
while Mrs. Eskett took the little girls upstairs to impress 
practically upon their minds the first section of the proverb: 
^^Early to bed and early to rise"^ the rector moved his chair 
where the light from the shaded lamp should not fall upon 
his weakening eyes, and, with Alice sitting in the low win- 
dow seat, opposite, began his story. 


118 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


CHAPTEE XVI. 

THE KECTOR^S STORY. 

^^Let me seeP^ began the Eector of Tregarvan, after a mo- 
ment of silence; ‘^it must be sixteen or seventeen years now 
since I went to Glenhampton^ to assume the temporary 
charge of St. Hilda^s Church, situated in its near neighbor- 
hood, at the request of Lord Glenharnpton, who was one of 
my school friends in our earlier days, and my college chum 
afterward. Have you ever seen Lord Glenharnpton, my 
dear?^^ 

^‘No, sir,’^ answered Alice. 

‘^Well, it doesn^’t matter much, only you could better have 
appreciated the contrast if you knew what a morbid, gloomy 
person he is now. As a young man he was one of the gay- 
est, lightest-hearted fellows I ever knew, with a face like 
sunshine, and frank, free manners, that drew friends around 
him as if by instinct. He married very young — this, you 
must understand, was before I came to Glenharnpton — a 
daughter of Lord Morville, who had died in Canada several 
years previously. She was a beautiful girl, and as good as 
she was beautiful, I am told; but she died in giving birth to 
twin daughters. And this was the beginning of the trouble 
that has ever since hung over the house of Glenharnpton. 

^‘They were pretty, healthy little babes, and the earl had 
them christened Allegra and Katherine, his dead wife’s two 
names. The old servants have told me that it was a piteous 
sight to see the young earl hanging over these two mother- 
less creatures, who were all that was left to him of the wife 
whose life seemed to have been nothing but a brief, bright 
vision. He had them with him night and day; he barely 
trusted them out of his sight for their daily walks in the 
arms of their attendants. He spent his whole time in study- 
ing vague resemblances in their baby features and innocent 
eyes to the mother who had never held them in her arms. 

^^Well, they grew and throve, when fate chanced to throw 
Lord Glenharnpton into the companionship of a handsome 
young widow — a Mrs. Evelyn, the relict of an East Indian 
officer. I donT think he would have noticed her for herself, 
for his whole heart seemed buried in Allegra Morville's 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


119 


grave; but she was a skillful maneuverer, and she won first 
his attention, then his admiration, by the extravagant at- 
tachment she professed for the twin girls. Perhaps I judge 
the present Lady Glenhampton too severely. I never saw 
her but once, and then I took an instinctive dislike to her. 
But, at all events, she took the earl by storm. He thought 
she would prove a good mother to his little ones, and he 
married her, scarcely more than a year after his wife’s death. 

‘‘I don^t know what the modern idea of it may be,^^ said 
the rector, thoughtfully, putting the tips of his fingers to- 
gether, ‘^but I call it a sort of legal bigamy when a man, 
still loving a dead wife, marries another woman from any 
motive of interest or expediency. I told Glenhampton so, 
plainly, when he consulted me about this second marriage; 
but what man ever takes advice when his mind is once made 
up? Circumstances have proved that I was not altogether 
wrong, for — but I am anticipating my story,^^ added the 
good man, catching at the broken threads of his narrative, 
as he might grasp at one of the falling books from his study 
table. ^‘He married her, and the first change in his plans 
that she effected after she was Countess of Glenhampton was 
to persuade him that his health required a brief sojourn 
among the islands of the' Mediterranean. He was ill, but 
his malady was not one which a southern climate, or the 
winds which blow over the orange groves of Sicily could ex- 
terminate. It was a broken heart, not tubercled lungs, 
which made his cheek pale and drew the dark hollows round 
his eyes. But a persistent woman can accomplish wonders, 
and to the Mediterranean they Went. At the eleventh hour 
my lady discerned that the voyage would be too difficult and 
wearisome to the little ones, so they were left at home, in 
charge of trusted servants. Hartfield, the butler, — poor 
fellow, he is dead and gone these ten years — has told me, 
many a time, with the tears in his honest eyes, of the part- 
ing between Lord Glenhampton and the little creatures, 
whom he dreamed so little that he was never to see again. 
My lady^s own child, by her first husband, was also left be- 
hind — a bright little boy of two or three years old — and it 
was just after the departure of the earl and the countess 
that I came to St. Hilda and assumed the temporary charge 
of the parish. I have somewhere among my old papers the 
letter Glenhampton wrote to me the night before he left 
England, commending, in terms of affecting entreaties, the 


120 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


poor babies to my care and oversight. Well, well, Heaven 
Knows I did my duty; although no one could have foreseen 
— ^but I am getting in advance of my story again! 

^‘The head nurse left in charge of the three children was 
an elderly Welsh woman, Elison Polwheal by name — one of 
those quiet, softly moving persons who say but very little, 
yet always contrive to impress you with an idea of their 
strong, peculiar character. She had been Mrs. Evelyn^s 
— I beg her ladyship^s pardon, the Countess of Glenhamp- 
ton’s — nurse, in years before, as I have heard, and was 
trusted almost boundlessly. I myself thought that Elison 
was the best person who could be left in charge of the three 
children; but it only shows how liable we all are to be mis- 
taken in our estimates of each other. No sooner was the 
earl and countess safely in Sicily than what does Elison 
Polwheal do but go and fall in love with a stupid old gar- 
dener or bailiff, attached to the place, although she was a 
good ten years older than he, and from that time her duties 
seemed only to claim a secondary part of her attention. I 
don^t think that at first she actually neglected the children, 
but they no longer received her undivided care. I was just 
about making up my mind to write to Lord Glenhampton, 
advising him to empower me to find some other less preoc- 
cupied guardian for the little things, when one night in the 
twilight Elison Polwheal rushed into my presence like a mad 
creature, tearing her hair, groveling on the ground, and ut- 
tering sentences so incoherent that I could comprehend 
nothing whatever of her meaning, except that some great 
calamity had occurred. 

^Mli too soon I learned what she meant. She had left 
the children playing in the meadows, while she had just been 
across the field to intercept this swain of hers on his home- 
ward way. She had staid longer than she meant. The lit- 
tle creatures had somehow strayed through a hole in the 
fence of whose existence she was unaware, and found their 
way down to the river side, and she was only in time to see 
them perish before her eyes.'’^ 

^^Oh, how horrible!’^ murmured Alice, involuntarily draw- 
ing a long breath. 

“It tvas horrible!^’ said Mr. Eskett, slowly. “I shall never 
forget Elison Pol wheal’s horror and dismay. I hardly knew 
what I said or did at first, but I summoned help as soon as 
possible, and we had the river dragged as far as practicable 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


121 


— it was an outlet of the Medway, not very wide, but one 
of those stealthy, sluggish streams where there are deep, 
treacherous pools that the country-side people assert to be 
bottomless, and our dread was that the bodies should have 
been caught and drawn down by the whirling current into 
some of those hidden and unfathomable caverns. All our 
endeavors were in vain — and it was not until a fortnight 
afterward that the poor little corpses, so altered by the ac- 
tion of the water and the effects of time as to be recognizable 
only by their garments and the gold necklaces they had al- 
ways worn since their birth, were recovered some miles 
down, where they had probably been drifted in the disturb- 
ance of the current subsequently to an unusually severe 
storm of wind and rain, so that before the Earl of Glen- 
hampton — detained by the sudden illness of his wife, who 
gave birth to a daughter on the very day that the awful 
tidings of their bereavement reached Palermo, where they 
were staying — could arrive, his little twin girls were sleep- 
ing among the century dead ancestors in the family mauso- 
leum. I could not tell you the story of Lord Glenhamp- 
ton’s frantic, unreasonable grief, even were I to attempt it. 
For a season it reduced him to the level of the maniacs 
whom we confine in solitary dungeons. Suffice it to say 
that he has never since held up his head.^^ 

^‘And the child born at Palermo 

‘^Was Lady Blanche Arden — a child whose grace, beauty, 
and affectionate disposition have failed to win for her in her 
fathers heart the place her little twin sisters held. He is a 
kind father, but the holiest and sweetest affection of his na- 
ture lie sepulchred forever, and only the hand of the Angel 
of Death can roll the stone away.^^ 

^"And what became of Elison Polwheal? Did they dis- 
charge her?’^ 

‘^She did not wait to be discharged; she returned to her 
native Welsh hills, declaring frantically that she never dared 
to look upon her mistress^ face again. Nor did she, to my 
knowledge. She is living near Tregarvan now, in the house 
where she was born, a woman over eighty years of age, bed- 
ridden and helpless, and daily longing for death to come 
and set her free. I visit her sometimes and read to her, but 
I confess to an uncomfortable feeling of aversion toward 
her; and I sometimes think she mistrusts it. My wife can 
sometimes make her talk, but with me she takes refuge in 


122 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


curfc monosyllables, as if the common people around her 
hold her in fear and dislike as a witch, for we are supersti- 
tions folks here in Wales. She is weary of her life, but 
Death does not always come when he is most longed for, and. 
I do not see but that she is likely to live to be a hundred, 
for the Pol wheals were always a long-lived race.^^ 

^^But how does she live? Who provides for her?^^ asked 
Miss Percival. 

believe Lady Glenhampton makes her a yearly allow- 
ance in consideration of her faithful services before the last 
terrible catastrophe. It shows that the countess must have 
a kind heart. 

^'Then she did not marry this farm-servant after all?'"' 

^*Oh, no; he went off to the Continent, and married some 
one else, I suppose; it is the general ending of all such ill- 
assorted love affairs."^^ 

‘G should like to see her,^^ said Alice, musingly. 

^^So you shall some time when Theresa goes up there on 
one of her errands of long-suffering kindness. She is a 
ghastly sight. If you are at all imaginative, she will remind 
you of some one whom, death has somehow forgotten — a 
corpse marvelously endowed with galvanic life. But she is 
rather interesting, too, as a relic of the past. Now, tell me, 
honestly,’^ said the rector, rousing Alice from a reverie into 
which she was unconsciously allowing herself to drift, ‘^are 
you tired of my long story ?^' 

^^Tired? Oh, no; I have been more interested than I 
can tell vou. I wonder, she added, ^^if Kena knows of 
it?” 

^^Most probably she does, if she is, as you say, the bosom 
friend of Lady Blanche.’^ 

^Tt is not a family secret ?^^ 

^^Oh, no — not at all; why should it be? Only, of course, 
it is not a favorite topic of conversation with the family, 
for, as I have told you. Lord Glenhampton has never recov- 
ered from the loss, and it is his wife^s constant endeavor to 
cheer him, and induce him, as far as possible, to forget the 
melancholy past.'’^ 

Mrs. Eskett came down at this moment, and the conver- 
sation took another turn. 

But after Alice had gone to her little room that night, 
she wrote another long epistle to Eena, in which she de- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


123 


tailed, circumstantially, the story she had that evening lis- 
tened to. 

“I thought it would interest you, dear Kena,” she added, for all 
such family histories have an -interest of their own. And I distinctly 
remember — do not you ? — the inscription in the beautiful old church 
by the wayside where we stopped with poor grandpapa, the night he 
died, when we read the names of ‘Allegra and Katherine, twin daugh- 
ters of Lord Glenhampton,’ and marveled, in our childish fashion, 
over the beauty of the sculptured marble angels. We did not dream 
then how curiously we should be brought into association with those 
names again, I through the memory of very kind friends here, and you 
through the presence of the very scenes where poor little Allegra and 
Katherine were born and died. 

“Dear Eena, tell me truly whether you are happy there, among the 
grandeurs of Glenhampton Castle? Sometimes I think you would 
have been better off to have taken the situation of governess some- 
where, and never come in contact with people and things that cannot 
always be within your reach; but you were ever more ambitious than 
poor little I, and I must not venture to judge for you. Only I wish I 
could tell you how very, very happy I am, and how kind they all are 
to me. AjiLiE.” 


124 


TM WIDOWED BRIDE. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MISS PERCIVAL GOES TO LONDOK. 

Alice Percival would indeed have sufficiently compre- 
hended the wide contrast between her sister^s life and her 
own, could she have seen Rena on this lovely September 
afternoon, sitting on one of the carved rustic chairs under 
the spreading boughs of an ancient beech tree, whose um- 
brageous foliage formed a complete canopy overhead, with 
Lord Vere Temple lying on the grass at her feet. Captain 
Evelyn leaning against the trunk of the tree, and Mr. Poy- 
nings close by. 

Lady Blanche Arden sat at no great distance, with Mr. 
Alkenard sketching the opposite scene for her benefit; but 
Lady Blanche was evidently quite a secondary personage in 
the animated little drama of real life now being enacted at 
Glenhampton. 

From the windows of her own boudoir. Lady Glenhamp- 
ton watched the scene with a sensation of angry uneasiness 
at her heart. 

^^Blanche,^^ she had said that morning to her daughter, 
^^is not your friend. Miss Percival, a good deal of a flirt 

Blanche opened wide her innocent dark eyes. 

^^Oh, no, mamma. What can make you think so?^^ 

^"Her own conduct, my dear. Don^t you see how she 
attracts our gentleman visitors 

^^But, mamma, it is because she cannot help it. It is not 
her fault that she is beautiful and fascinating. I am sure 
Vere and Ernest cannot admire her any more than I do. 
Rena always attracted people around her, as if she had been 
an enchantress.'’^ 

Lady Glenhampton shook her head, unconvinced. 

don^t like having these enchantresses in my house, 
Blanche. I am almost sorry you invited her here.^^ 
^‘Mammar 

^‘And I sincerely hope,^^ went on Lady Glenhampton, 
^Hhat she will have the good sense not to prolong her stay 
much further than its appointed time."” 

^^Mamma, you are ungenerous now,^^ pleaded Blanche, 
every impulse of her noble nature roused in behalf of her 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 125 

friend. ^^Eena has no home to go to — no connections to 
receive her." 

^^Is that any reason that she should make a home of Glen- 
hampton Castle r" asked the countess^ coldly. 

‘^But, mamma, what has Kena done?" 

^^It is not what she has done, my daughter, so much as 
what she may do in the future." 

don^t understand you," said innocent Blanche. 

Lady Glenhampton looked at the young, puzzled face 
almost pityingly. It seemed incredible that her daughter 
should be so ignorant of the ways of the world. 

“Blanche," she said, “you don^t consider Ernest is begin- 
ning to admire Miss Percival very much, and " 

“Oh, mamma!" breathlessly interrupted Blanche, “do 
you really think so? Then it was not all my own imagina- 
tion, as I feared. Would not it be nice to have Rena here 
always?" 

^‘Blanche! Blanche!" ejaculated the countess, more sharply 
than she had ever before spoken to her petted child, “if 
you would stop to reflect for one instant, you would know 
how vitally necessary it is for your brother Ernest to marry 
a wife whose wealth and family will add new dignity to the 
honorable old name of Evelyn." 

“But we are rich, mamma." 

^^Yes, we are rich, but I know too well, from what your 
father has, at different times, let fall, that Ernest Evelyn 
will never reap any advantage from the golden possessions 
of the Glenhamptons." 

^^Mamma, surely that would be unjust." 

“Not as the world judges such things, my child. Ernest 
Evelyn is not Lord Glenhampton'^s child, and your father 
has already been most generous toward him. You are the 
heiress of Glenhampton, my Blanche, and you only." 

“Then I will divide it with him," cried the young girl, 
passionately. 

^‘My darling, that would not be right, neither would the 
law allow any such undue generosity on your part. Ernest 
has his own future to carve out, and he can best accomplish 
it by a successful matrimonial alliance. Hush! there is Lord 
Vere calling to know if you are ready for your ride! Don^t 
keep him waiting; the horses are at the door." 

And Blanche, who had been standing in her riding-habit 


126 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


of dark green velvet, tripped away, her soft eyes sparkling 
beneath the shadow of the long black plume of her hat. 

But Lady Glenhampton had not judged it best to divulge 
to her daughter the secret anxiety which was corroding her 
heart, the fear lest Kena Percivals brilliant beauty and mar- 
velous grace should wile away from unsuspecting Blanche 
the dearest treasure of her girl-heart. Lord Vere Templets 
allegiance. 

'‘For, after all,^^ thought the countess, restlessly biting 
her under lip, ‘^there is no regular engagement between 
them as yet, and the truest heart that ever beat would be 
inveigled by the witching ways of yonder little siren. It is 
an infatuation, and nothing more, but it may embitter 
Blanche’s whole life, nevertheless. Oh, why — why will not 
fate let me be happy for a brief while, after all that I have 
endured.” 

Her head dropped on her hands, the lids fell heavily over 
her eyes, and something like a groan broke from her lips. 

It was but too evident that the majestic Countess of Glen- 
hampton, surrounded as* she was by wealth, luxury, and 
splendor, was not happy. 

But there was one consolation left to her. Ernest must 
join his regiment in October to proceed to town, and one, 
at least, of the two impending dangers would be averted. 
Lady Glenhampton resolved to endure the inevitable as 
patiently as possible, in view of its brief continuance. What, 
therefore, was her vexation and inward consternation when 
Ernest came gayly into the breakfast-room one morning 
with an open letter in his hand. 

^‘Congratulate me, mamma,” he said, with the uncon- 
cealed glee of a schoolboy. ^‘Fve got another month’s 
leave of absence.” 

“Upon my word that’s jolly!” cried Lord Vere. “You 
know I was saying only the other day that our little circle 
here was too pleasant to lose even one element.” 

Lady Glenhampton smiled and tried to say something 
pleasant and congratulatory, but the words died away on 
her lips, and Ernest read in the one single glance from 
Bella’s momentarily uplifted eyes that she was not indif- 
ferent to his tidings. 

“Fate is pitted against me,” thought the countess, while 
Miss Clive, sitting motionless in her accustomed place, 
silently watched the tides of youth and hope, love and ex- 


TBE WIDOWED DR IDE, 


m 


pectation eddying around her, herself lifted as far out of 
its atmosphere as if she were lying under the shadow of a 
coffin-lid. 

But all things must come to an end, and so, in its ap- 
pointed time, did Captain Evelyn^s month of absence — the 
thirty longest days his lady mother had ever known, as it 
seemed to her. Mr. Alkenard had long returned to his 
chambers at the Temple; Lord Vere came and went, and 
still Kena Percival staid on at Glenhampton Castle. 

“I canT spare you yet, dearest,^^ was Lady Blanche's 
coaxing plea whenever she made some faint allusion to tak- 
ing her departure. should be so lonely without you.""’ 

And the red and brown leaves rustled down from walnut, 
beech, and elm, and the snow-wreaths of early winter came, 
and the Christmas festivities filled the Castle with gayety, 
to which the only drawback was the earPs still protracted 
absence on the Continent — and Easter followed. 

The Countess of Glenhampton began to feel as if Kenans 
intimacy with her daughter must be broken up at all haz- 
ards. It had been dangerous at first, before she was ad- 
mitted to the privileges of an almost acknowledged member 
of the household — it was trebly perilous now. 

‘‘Blanche, said the countess, at the luncheon table, one 
glorious March day, as her daughter entered the room a 
little pale and wearied from a long ramble in the leafless 
woods with her friend Rena and Lord Yere Temple, “I 
have received a letter to-day from my old friend, the Duch- 
ess of St. Burgoyne— a letter that interests you somewhat!^^ 

“I donT know how it possibly can, mamma,^^ said Blanche, 
laughing, “as I donT think I ever saw her grace.'’^ 

“She has always promised herself the pleasure of present- 
ing my daughter at court, Blanche, when you were old 
enough to claim the distinction, and she writes me that 
there is to be a drawing-room the last of this month. 

“Does that mean that we are to go up to town, mamma?” 

“Would you not like it, my love?” 

“Yery much, mamma, if Rena will go too.” 

“I shall be very happy if Miss Percival will consent to 
accompany us to London,” observed Lady Glenhampton, 
rather icily than otherwise, and Rena, in a few gracefully 
uttered words, expressed her thanks for the invitation so 
grudgingly seconded. 

‘T see how it is,” she thought, smiling at her own reflec- 


128 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


tion in the opposite mirror. -‘Her ladyship wants to inter- 
rupt the serene current of Captain ErnesCs captivation, to 
say nothing of any interest Lord Vere may be beginning to 
feel in poor little me! Does she imagine I do not see through 
her? Well, London is quite as good a field for my campaign 
as Glenhampton Castle. IVe had a delightful winter here, 
and now I mean to have an equally charming spring in 
London. By the time that is over I shall probably have 
some definite plans of my own, which will relieve my lady 
countess of my unwelcome presence/' 

These fancies passed rapidly through her mind as she sat 
toying with her wine-glass, while the others were gayly dis- 
cussing the probabilities of a brilliant season during the ap- 
proaching spring. Blanche alone was silent, she had drooped 
a little during the last few weeks, and Lady Glenhampton^s 
vigilant eye was quick to detect the change. 

^^She is not well,'"' she thought. ^^Can it be possible that 
she sees how surely Yere Templets fickle heart is drifting 
away from her? She must have change, at all events, and 
this London plan will make a most opportune diversion in 
her favor. 

•T've a great mind to go up to London with you,^' said 
Lord Vere. ^Gf you will allow me to become your escort. 
Lady Glenhampton, I can easily write to my friends in Not- 
tinghamshire, and put off my promised visit there for a few 
days.^^ 

^^By no means, said Lady Glenhampton, with an earn- 
estness that was quite genuine; ‘G can allow no engage- 
ments to be broken on my account. Dufour is all the es- 
cort we need, and the house in Grosvenor square is all 
ready to receive us at any moment. Perhaps, later in the 
season, you may join us in London. By which time,^^ 
Lady Glenhampton added, to herself, ^G shall have taken 
specially good care to get rid of this aggravating little siren. 
Miss Percival.^' 

What a blessed thing it is that our thoughts are invisible 
to those who listen to our honeyed words. 

Kenans next letter written to her sister Alice contained an 
enthusiastic description of the palatial residence in Grosve- 
nor square, whose splendors rivaled those of the old castle 
in Kent. 

The inspiring air of London, with the additional stimu- 
lant of a prospective presentation at the Court of St, J ames, 


mE WIDOWED BRIDE. 129 

failed to produce the desired effect upon the health of Lady 
Blanche Arden. 

She grew daily paler and thinner; her strength, never 
very Herculean, waxed daily less and less, until Lady Glen* 
hampton grew alarmed, and sent for Sir Morford Delville> 
the Esculapius of all the most aristocratic circles. 

Sir Morford, a tall, handsome gentleman, with Roman 
features, a voice like a brooding dove, and a manner of ex- 
treme interest, came accordingly, felt Lady Blanche's pulse 
with a finger as light as a thistle-down, asked her one or 
two insinuatingly spoken questions, and ^^hoped that this 
was nothing more than a trifling indisposition.-^' 

^ ‘There, mamma," said Lady Blanche, told you so." 

But when the fashionable physician saw the countess 
separately, he assumed quite a different tone. 

don't wish to alarm you, Lady Glenhampton," he said, 
courteously; ^^but Lady Blanche must leave London di- 
rectly for the sea air." 

^^But she is to be presented at court on Tuesday," cried 
Lady Glenhampton, aghast. 

Sir Morford shook his head positively. 

‘impossible!" he said. “She must be removed from this 
foggy atmosphere at once. I can't call it any special dis- 
ease. It is rather a general failing and giving way of all 
the springs of life. Take her to the sea-side at once — 
Brighton — Gravesend — I don't care where — and if a few 
days there do not build her up in some degree she must go 
abroad." 

And Sir Morford penciled a prescription on one of the 
perfumed leaves of his memorandum-book, and departed to 
the next aristocratic threshold which the vulgar presence of 
sickness had presumed to invade, leaving Lady Glenhamp- 
ton sorely bewildered. 

Of one thing she was quite certain — the drawing-room 
must be postponed indefinitely — and, in order that no time 
might be lost, she sat down at once and wrote a tele- 
gram to Captain Evelyn, requesting him to meet her at 
Brighton. 

“I will have it as near like home as possible for my poor 
child," she said within herself, “and I will not have this 
Miss Percival in our train. I can easily invent some excuse 
for leaving her here, and the spell her presence seems to ex- 
ert over Blanche once broken, it will not be difficult to get 


130 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


rid of her effectually. Lady Carrisley wrote sometiixiig to 
me about wanting a governess to take to Paris with her, 
and Julia Fenwick is always quarreling with her gover- 
nesses. I can find her a situation she will scarcely have the 
face to refuse. 

And so, having safely dispatched her telegraphic missive 
by the hand of a trusty servant, the countess joined her 
daughter and Miss Percival in the former s sitting-room. 

^‘Well, my love,^^ she said, turning to Blanche, ‘‘Sir 
Morford’s visit will have the effect of alteiing our plans 
very materially. We must go down to Brighton in to- 
morrow morning’s earliest train — he thinks you need sea 
air.” 

^‘But, mamma, the drawing-room!” cried Blanche, with a 
face of surprise. 

know it, but there will be other drawing-rooms later 
in the season. You don’t mind being disappointed for 
once?” 

^‘^o, mamma, but — Lady St. Burgoyne,who is coming up 
from Balfour Castle on purpose to present me.” 
can write her an explanatory letter.” 

^‘But I am not so sick as to necessitate so much haste as 
this, mamma,” cried Blanche, with a puzzled face. 

“Ko, darling, but you know Sir Morford’s apt to be rather 
autocratic, and having once placed you under his care, it 
will be necessary that you obey his directions with circum- 
stantial exactness.” 

^‘Well, mamma, I will do just as you wish,” meekly as- 
sented Lady Blanche, whose docility and sweetness of tem- 
per were rather a contrast to her mothers somewhat despotic 
temperament. “But how can Rena go? Her dress is at 
the modiste^ s yet.” 

Lady Glenhampton lifted her large black eyes, and fixed 
them full upon the face of Rena, who glanced at her in the 
same moment. 

“I am sorry,” she said; “but it would be a great accom- 
modation to me if Miss Percival would remain in Gros- 
venor square to take charge of things a little for the pres- 
ent.” 

“Mamma,” interposed Blanche, surely the house- 
keeper ” 

“Blanche,” said Rena.with the crimson glow rising to her 
cheeks, “pray do not deprive me of the pleasure of becom* 


THE WIDOWED BBIDE. 


131 


ing a convenience to your mother. Lady Glenhampton, I 
shall be delighted to be of any service.'' 

^^You are very kind/^ said the countess, in the same 
artificial tone. you will be so kind as to ring for Lady 

Blanche’s maid we can give all the necessary directions at 
once.^^ 

Kena obeyed, moving with the slow haughtiness of a 
princess. If she could at that moment have obeyed the 
tumultuous dictates of her own heart she would have struck 
the smiling, insolent countess to the ground. 

^‘She is making an upper-servant of me,’^ she thought, 
biting her lip until the blood started, ^‘^and Blanche, in her 
unconsciousness, never suspects it. You are deepening my 
indebtedness to you with every hour. Countess of Glenhamp- 
ton, but the day of reckoning will surely come!’^ 

And she resolutely put aside her own resentment while 
she assisted Blanche with the numerous and hurried prepa- 
rations that were incident to her unexpected journey. 

^^Dear Rena,’^ said the young girl, with her arms round 
her friend’s neck, ‘^you will come to us at Brighton if I do 
not soon return?’’ 

^^How can I tell, Blanche?” asked Rena, evasively. 
future is not in my own hands. But one thing I won’t 
forget — my promise one day to be your bridesmaid.” 

The paleness crept over Blanche’s cheek, and her arms 
dropped languidly at her side. 

see now how foolish they were, our school-day vows 
and promises,” she said, in a low tone. do not think, 
now, that I shall ever need a bridesmaid, Rena.” 

‘^Blanche, you are not so ill as that!” 

^^No, it isn’t that, Rena — but, somehow, I don’t think 
Vere cares for me as he used to do, and ” 

Her head drooped on her friend’s shoulder, and she burst 
into a passionate fit of tears. At the same instant the door 
opened and Lady Glenhampton entered with a sealed letter 
in her hand. 

^'Miss Percival,” she said, severely, ^fit is very wrong of 
you to agitate Lady Blanche Arden in this manner. These 
tragic scenes may be very romantic, but they are quite in- 
appropriate to an occasion like this.” 

Rena sat pale and silent, saying not a word in her own 
defense, while Lady Blanche, dashing the newly shed tears 
from her eyes, broke out into a vindication of her friend. 


132 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


^^Never mind how it happened, now, darling, said Lady 
Glenhampton, only partially modified. don^t like to see 
you wearing yourself out with idle emotions — that is all. 
Miss Percival/^ turning to the elder girl, beg you will 
be so kind as to give this note to the Duchess of St. Bur- 
goyne when she calls here, as she will probably do to-mor- 
row some time. I would send it by a servant, did I know 
when she intends to be in town. As it is, I am compelled 
to trouble you.'' 

^‘It will be no trouble at all,^^ said Eena, as stiffly as her 
ladyship, while at the same time she could not help observ- 
ing that Lady Glenhampton spoke to her precisely as she did 
to Mrs. Carter, the Grosvenor square housekeeper. 

'^Another little item to be remembered in my Lady Glen- 
hampton^s favor when we have our final settlement/' she 
thought, calmly. 


TEE WIDOWED BBIDE. 


133 


CHAPTEE XVIII. 

REIS'A MASQUERADE. 

Lady Blanche Arden parted from Miss Percival with 
many tears and affectionate protestations, although she was 
firmly convinced that their separation would be but for a 
few days; Lady Glenhampton, with a cold touch of the 
gloved hand, and a chilling inclination of the head, and 
Kena found herself alone, except for the corps of servants 
always left in charge of the superb mansion in Grosvenor 
square. 

She walked through the echoing rooms, and, as she 
paused in front of Lady Blanche's door, one of the servants 
came up. 

was looking for you, Miss Percival/^ she said. ^^My 
Lady Blanche's court-dress have just arriv', and my lady^s 
maid ain^t here, ai^d 

^^And so you thought I would do just as well, Dorcas, 
said Miss Percival, with a slight shrug of her shoulders, 
^^Very well, bring it into the dressing-room.'’^ 

iXot until the servants had uttered their exclamations of 
admiration at the beauty of the dress, and regrets that 
their young mistress could not be there to wear it into the 
presence of her gracious sovereign, did Rena venture to 
lock the door, and herself contemplate the splendors of the 
^ ^court-dress. 

It was of rich, heavy silk, of the color which exactly 
simulates the tender hues of a tranquil sea beneath the 
light of a June moon, the seams covered with seed pearls, 
and every available place trimmed with a glimmering fringe 
of pearl, while the train of superb emerald velvet, exactly 
matched it in color, and avail of white tulle, sprinkled over 
with pearls, lay in its adjoining box, fastened to a wreath 
of white syringa buds mingled with green leaves. 

^Gt is a dress fit for a queen!” said Rena, half-aloud. ^'I 
wonder how it would become me!” 

The thought scarcely entered Miss PercivaPs somewhat 
capricious little head, before it was put into execution, and 
five minutes afterward, Rena stood before the long glass, in 
the glistening lights and shadows of the court-dress^ the 


134 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


pearl-dotted vail looped fantastically away from her dark 
ringlets, over which the syringa buds drooped as if they 
loved to caress the glossy spirals, and the magnificent sweep 
of emerald velvet trailing far behind her over the carpet. 

She looked at herself with a half-conscious thrill of pride 
in the contemplation of her own radiant young beauty. 
Yes, she became it passing well, she thought, as she noted 
the sparkle in her deep hazel eyes, the roses on her satin- 
smooth cheeks. Oh! why — why, was she not born to such 
imperial decorations as these? Why should she never taste 
the rarified air of courts — she, whose nature craved it so 
passionately? 

Suddenly a curious whim, or rather caprice, darted into 
her restless brain. 

will!’^ she exclaimed aloud, throwing back the pearl 
vail that drooped so low over her fair forehead. will, 
just for once! Nobody can prevent me! Lady Blanche 
would not care. She would ouly laugh and call it an excel- 
lent joke. And, as for my lady, the countess, I should 
rather enjoy her wrath and indignation at what she will be 
sure to phrase my unwarrantable presumption. I think I 
hear her mouthing out the words now. At all events, the 
plan is worth trying, just for the sake of aggravating my 
lady. She has shown the flag of defiance plainly enough. 
I know of no good reason why I should hesitate to retaliate.'^ 

There was a fevered red in her cheeks, a new light burn- 
ing in her eyes, as she carefully removed the gorgeous dress, 
article by article, marveling the while to observe how per- 
fectly its component parts fitted her own slender young 
figure, and then laid it carefully away in its boxes, in 
Blanche's inner dressing-room. 

^^Shall I put it away. Miss Percival?” asked the upper 
housemaid, who was in the hall without, when Eena emerged 
from her temporary masquerade. 

^‘Leave it just where it is,^^ said Rena, quietly, and passed 
on to her own room. 

Her first action on entering there, was to go to her little 
rosewood writing-desk, a present from Lady Blanche, only 
the week before, unlock it, and take thence the letter the 
countess had written to the Duchess of St. Burgoyne. She 
lighted one of the wax tapers, in the little ivory taper-stand 
on the dressing-table, and held the missive in the clear, 
white flame, watching it burn until the ends of her own 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


135 


pretty fingers were scorched, and she was forced to throw 
the three-cornered bit of charred paper, which was all that 
remained of the epistle, into the fender. 

*^‘80 much for that!’^ said Eena, her eyes sparkling like 
those of a mischievous child. ^‘Her ladyship will probably 
learn not to make a servant of me again. Now let us wait 
and see how events develop themselves. What a very lucky 
thing it is for the success of my plot that old Lady St. Bur- 
goyne hasn^t seen Lady Blanche Arden since she was ten 
years old. We do look alike, people say — and now I must 
try my skill as an amateur actress. 

The Duchess of St. Burgoyne was one of those ladies who 
are chronically, habitually, and incorrigibly behind time. 
She never reached a steamboat landing or a railway station 
in season. She looked upon time as a runaway, whom it 
was hopeless to try to overtake. She had not reached St. 
George^s chapel at the celebration of her own wedding until 
half t^he guests had gone away in despair — she was so behind 
time at her son’s christening that the bishop lost all patience, 
and she reached Paris just too late to attend her own father’s 
funeral, just twenty years ago. Consequently the Duchess 
of St. Burgoyne, who had fully intended to be in London 
on Monday afternoon did not arrive there until Tuesday 
morning. 

^^People didn’t use to be in such a hurry when I was a 
girl!’' said she. ^ ^However, I’m very glad I am here. I 
wouldn’t have missed presenting Edith Glenhampton’s girl 
for anything. Do you think I ought to call there first, Bal- 
four? or do you suppose she’ll be all ready?” 

The Marquis of Balfour, her grace’s eldest son, dubiously 
submitted that there would not be time. 

^^Oh, there’s plenty of time,” said the Duchess of St. 
Burgoyne. There always was time, according to her grace’s 
theory and never in her practice. ‘^However, I don’t know 
that it’s necessary, and one does feel tired after that racket- 
ing railway journey up. So Danesberry shall bring me 
tea, and I’ll have a nap before I begin to dress.” 

The Duchess of St. Burgoyne in her brown traveling dress 
looked as unlike the preconceived idea people generally have 
of a duchess as the actors in real life are dissimilar to the 
knights and ladies of a three-volume novel. She was a tall, 
thin old lady, with gray hair, a hooked nose, and an eye 
blue and keen as a falcon’s; and her garb, as she sat there 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


136 

sipping her cnp of strong green tea, was as sober-looking as 
if she had been a milliner, instead of a duchess. 

Lord Balfour sat opposite, reading a newspaper. He was 
a tall and handsome man of two or three-and-thirty, like, 
and yet unlike, his mother, whom he loved tenderly, in spite 
of her many whimsical peculiarities of character. 

^"Come, mamma, he said, after the duchess had skimmed 
through half a dozen morning papers, ^^you^ll not have time 
for a full-dress toilet if you don^t ring for Nancy and 
begin 

“There is plenty of time,^^ said the duchess, absently. 

But Lord Balfour took the paper from her with gentle 
violence, and escorted her to the door, where Nancy, her 
trusty tirewoman, met her. Between the Marquis of Bal- 
four and Nancy Briggs, the poor duchess declared she was 
always being “hurried out of her senses. 

Lady St. Burgoyne, as she stood in the superb entrance 
hall of Burgoyne House, waiting for the carriage to be an- 
nounced, was like a duchess, in good truth, at last. Her 
dress of black velvet, with its sweeping train; her white 
vail of heavy wrought point d’Alencon, the coronet and 
stomacher of magnificent diamonds that she wore, made 
her look like the nobly born lady that she was. Lord Bal- 
four looked admiringly at her. 

“If you weren^t a married woman, mamma, I should cer- 
tainly fall ill love with you,^^ said he, sportively. “You 
look so nice!^^ 

“Hold your tongue, said Lady St. Burgoyne, briskly, 
^^and keep your compliments for Edith Glenhampton^s 
girlP^ 

And she gave him an energetic little tap with her jeweled 
fan for presuming to kiss her hand as he helped her into 
the carriage. 

Owing to the united efforts of Nancy and Lord Balfour, 
the Duchess of St. Burgoyne was not more than fifteen 
minutes behind hand, when the carriage — a wide, old-fash- 
ioned vehicle, in which the duchess had made her wedding 
calls nearly half a century ago, stopped in front of the man- 
sion in Grosvenor square. 

Parkinson, the porter, who had received his orders from 
Miss Percival to admit all visitors at once to her presence, 
threw open the door and the tall duchess sailed into the 
drawing-room* 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE 


137 


troublesome to get out/^ she said, one^s train 
and all; but as I haven^t called, it mightn't seem sufficiently 
cordial to sit still in the carriage and send for her. If you'll 
just hold my train, Balfour, it won't be a great deal of trou- 
ble!" 

Eena Percival stood in the center of the large apartment, 
a beautiful vision of youth and loveliness and maiden bloom, 
the vail floating like a pearl-gemmed cloud over her shoul- 
ders, the emerald lights of her dress shining as it lay in rip- 
pled undulations along the floor, and her beautiful arms, 
neck, and shoulders, unadorned by a single jewel (ah, if 
Lady Blanche Arden had only had the foresight to leave her 
jewel-case behind) looking as if they were molded in ala- 
baster. As she advanced with a smile to great them. Lady 
St. Burgoyne stopped short, as surprised and delighted as if 
she had met a lovely white angel, and Lord Balfour, albeit 
he had seen many fair women iu his day, felt a thrill of ad- 
miration quiver through his whole frame. 

Lady St. Burgoyne put up her eye-glass, and took a good 
look at the pretty apparition! 

^‘My dear," said she, drawing Kena to her, and kissing 
her, ‘ffiow lovely you are — and how like your poor, dear 
father! But where is Edith? I mean your mamma — she 
always will be Edith to me, if she had twenty daughters as 
tall as you are!" 

^"The Countess of Glenhampton was called suddenly away 
to Brighton, before she had time to notify you," answered 
Eena. coloring as she spoke the words of unmistakable 
equ i vocation ; ‘ ‘an d " 

"'Oh, yes, it's all right," said Lady St. Burgoyne. "She 
knew you wouldn't want to miss the drawing-room, and 
that I would take good care of you, my dear. This is my 
son. Lord Balfour, Edith — is it Edith?" she added, as Lord 
Balfour bowed before the radiant young creature. 

"No," Eena answered again, feeling the crimson burn in 
her cheeks, "it is Blanche." 

"And a very pretty name it is, too," said Lady St. Bur- 
goyne; "but I believe we liave no time to lose — at least 
Balfour says so, although Balfour is always hurrying me. 
Our carriage is wide, and I think there'll be plenty of room 
ill it, as Edith is not here to go, and it will be more social 
to be all together!" 

For which suggestion Eena Percival thanked the kindly 


138 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


duchess in her heart, for she had not ventured to ask the 
surly coachman for the carriage, trusting to that luck which, 
as it seemed, stanchly befriended her. 

‘^Don^t you think she's very like her father, Balfour 
asked the duchess when they were snugly ensconced in the 
roomy old family coach. ^^But I forgot — you never saw 
Adelbert Arden as he used to be before he married Edith! 
Of course you know all about your father’s first marriage, 
my dear? It was a sad alfair, and your father never has 
seemed quite the same man since. Perhaps you don’t like 
to talk about it — well, well, I can’t blame you — these family 
tragedies are not always pleasant topics of conversation?” 

And lady St. Burgoyne relapsed into a sort of pensive 
silence, while Lord Balfour talked pleasantly to the beauti- 
ful young girl. 

Eena’s heart beat high, as amid shoutings, tumult, and 
confusion their carriage took its place in the long stream of 
equipages which filled Pall Mall, and seemed to crawl along 
at a snail’s pace, while the pavement was lined with the 
curious faces of the staring mob. At length they reached 
St. James’ Palace, and Lord Balfour led his mother beneath 
the court portals and through the stately entrance hall, with 
Eena following, between lines of brilliantly attired guards 
and solemn-looking gentlemen, each of whom seemed to 
have the whole responsibility of their majesty’s personal 
safety on his own individual mind. 

The drawing-room upon this particular occasion was un- 
usually crowded — so, at least, the Duchess of St. Burgoyne 
said — and it was some time before they were able to reach 
the Throne room, where stood the Prince and Princess of 
Wales surrounded by the officers of the household, the ladies 
and gentlemen in waiting, and the high dignitaries of the 
realm. As they approached the presence, in their turn, 
Eena felt bewildered and terrified by her own audacity — she 
was half-tempted to cry out, ^Tardon me! forgive me! I 
am not Lady Blanche Arden, but only poor little Eena Per- 
cival! Let me go and hide myself away from human sight!” 
And then a thrill of mingled terror and delight eddied 
through her veins as she found herself, she knew not how, 
courtesying low in response to the gracious greeting of the 
heir of England and the sweet-faced Princess Alexandra, 
and then she was somehow passed on to make room for a 


^tlE WIDOWED BRIDE 


139 , 


plump, Saxon-faced beauty behind her, and the presentation! 
was over! ! 


Yes — the distinction was achieved for which every fair 
girl in England naturally sighs — the deed was done, and 
could not be undone, and in her secret heart of hearts Eena 
Percival was not sorry! 

‘‘Such a crowd!'"’ said Lady St. Burgoyne, with a renewed 
sigh, as she seated herself once more among the yellow silk 
cushions of the old family carriage. “I declare I thought I 
never should come out of it alive. But you are as fresh as 
a rose, my dear — you doiPt look a bit tired."’*’ 

“I am not tired, answered liena, with a bright look of 
gratitude. “Oh, Lady St. Burgoyne, I have enjoyed it so 
muchr 

“Upon my word,^^ Lady St. Burgoyne said, when she was 
safe in her own home that evening. “Edith Glenhampton^’s 
daughter is the prettiest creature I have seen these ten 
years. What do you think, Balfour?^^ 

“I quite agree with you, mamma, "’^answered the marquis, 
who had been sitting in a deep reverie, looking out upon the 
dreary boughs of the trees opposite. 

“And so artless and graceful in her manners, added the 
duchess. “But I don^t understand what could possess 
Edith to go otf and leave her alone in that strange sort of 
way. I don^t like it — it isn^t right. But Pve a great mind 
to ask her to come here for the two or three days which I 
shall stay in town?^^ 

“A capital idea,^^ said Lord Balfour, with promptitude. 
“Let’s have the carriage up and go after her at once.” 

“Balfour,” said his mother, gravely, “you’re going to fall 
in love.” 

He colored slightly, but laughed at the same time. 

“Mamma,” he said, “that has been your pet horror ever 
since I was four years old. Can’t I possibly get the idea out 
of your dear old head?” 

“Hot that I would object to Edith Glenhampton’s girl,” 
said Lady St. Burgoyue. “If she is as good as she is pretty, 
she would be a fitting match for any man.” 

“Well,” said he, with a resigned air, “I never supposed 
you, of all women in the world, would turn out a inatch- 
maker.” 

“Order the carriage at once,” said the duchess, jumping 


140 


TEE Widowed bridE. 


up. think of her being left there alone. I don^t know 

what some mothers are thinking of.'^ 

And while the Countess of Glenhampton contentedly im- 
agined that Rena Percival was yawning away her time in the 
prosaic charge of the Grosvenor Square Mansion, that young 
damsel was the petted guest of the stately Duchess of St. 
Burgoyne, half frightened at times, in the consciousness of 
her own temerity, yet happier than she had ever been be- 
fore in her life. 

^'This is the existence that I was born for,^^ she told her- 
self, with secret exultation. ^^Oh, if I could live on for- 
ever thus; but the end will come, sooner or later. Mean- 
while, let me be happy. The butterfly lives but for a day — 
let my day too be one of unclouded sunshine. 

And when Lady St. Burgoyne went back into the coun- 
try, she told Rena that she should soon write to Lady Glen- 
hampton to beg a long visit from her young favorite, and so 
Rena found herself once more alone in the deserted gran- 
deur of Grosvenor square. 


iUE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


141 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE PLOT IS DISCOYEEED. 

More than three weeks had passed since Lady Glenhamp- 
ton had left London, and the days were beginning to grow 
inexpressibly long and wearisome to Rena Percival. She 
was sitting, one day, curled up on a low velvet cushion, in 
a bay window, reading a book she had selected out of the 
library, when the gilt-paneled door opposite opened, and 
Lady Glenhampton^s tall, exquisitely-molded figure stood 
opposite to her, clad in a traveling suit, with a rich scarf 
looped lightly across her shoulders. 

Rena sprang to her feet at once. 

^^Miss Percival!'^ her ladyship enunciated, in accents that 
betokened a by no means agreeable surprise; ^^you here 
still 

am here still, Rena answered, calmly, ^^in obedience 
to your ladyship^s injunctions.^^ 

And Blanche, who was a little behind, ran past her mother, 
and flew into Renans arms, crying: 

‘^Oh, Rena, darling! I am so glad to see you once again 

Rena PercivaPs face, which had grown hard and cold as 
stone, softened once more in the dewy sheen of Lady Blanche's 
soft eyes. 

^^My dearest r she murmured, surveying the fair young 
face with a tender earnestness; ^^you are better! — you are 
well 

^^The sea air has done me so much good!^^ cried Blanche, 
exultantly. ^^See! my cheeks are red now! But I am so 
glad to get back to you again, darling! Come with me to 
my room, and see what a beautiful shell necklace,! have 
brought you!^^ 

And she dragged Rena away with her, scarcely allowing 
her to pause long enough to greet Captain Evelyn, who had 
lounged into the room after his sister. 

For once, then, Lady Glenhampton, skillful tactician, 
though she was, had allowed herself to be out- generated. 
She had fully counted upon solitude and neglect having the 
desired effect of driving Miss Percival back to the protec- 
tion of Hartford Lodge; and now the danger to Ernest was 


142 


TEE WIDOWED BUIDE, 


more imminent than ever, for there could be no excuse 
framed for driving him away from his own home, especially 
as his regiment happened to be quartered close by for a few 
weeks. 

^^We will go down to Glenhampton at once,^^ she thought. 
^‘Miss Percival cannot have the face to follow us thither 
once more; or if she does presume to think of it I believe I 
shall know how to put her in her right place 

^‘To Glenhampton so soon, mammaP^ cried the puzzled 
Lady Blanche, who could not comprehend the subtle work- 
ings of the elderly lady^s mind. ^‘Why, I have not been 
presented yet! and the lovely emerald green silk has never 
even been taken out of its box!^' 

•‘There will be plenty of other opportunities, my dear,^^ 
said Lady Glenhampton, quietly; “and I think you need 
country air and quiet just at present more than the whirl 
and tumult of a London season. You are young still, and 
you will lose nothing by waiting. I have given orders 
about packing to your maid, and we will start the day after 
to-morrow.^^ 

The morrow, during which Lady Blanche would scarcely 
allow Eena to be out of sight, was spent in shopping, pack- 
ing, and the numerous other occupations which precede a 
hurried start, and it was not until evening that the family 
found time to assemble in the drawing-room, to enjoy a 
brief season of leisure. 

Lady Blanche sat at the piano, singing a pretty little bal- 
lad she had picked upon the esplanade at Brighton. Lady 
Glenhampton reclined in an easy chair, apparently listening 
to Blanche's music, but in reality uneasily watching Captain 
Ernest Evelyn, as he hung over Miss PercivaFs low seat in 
the bay window. 

“She is beautiful,^’ she was forced to confess to herself, 
as the shaded light fell full on Renans face, revealing its ex- 
quisite curves and classic lines, and contrasting the silky 
darkness of her hair with the pink and white of her com- 
plexion and the carnation redness of her lips; “but not 
more beautiful than many a woman whom Ernest has 
passed by without a second thought. I wish I knew the 
secret of the magic influence slie carries with her. Is there 
actually any foundation of truth in the stories of spells and 
amulets? One might almost be tempted to believe that she 
carries one, hidden away somewhere! I wish Blanche had 


THE WIDOWED BDIDE. 


143 


never seen her! I wish it from the very bottom of my 
heart 

While these disjointed thoughts were passing through her 
mind, the footman entered with a card in his hand. 

^‘For Lady Blanche Arden/’ he said, looking doubtfully 
at Eena, who had so carefully instructed him, in the absence 
of the family, that all cards or messages for Lady Blanche 
were to be brought directly to her. But Lady Blanche rose 
from the piano and took the card from its silver salver at 
once. 

^'The Marquis of Balfour, she read upon the delicately 
engraved surface of the slip of cardboard. ^^Why, mamma, 
that is Lady St. Burgoyne^'s son, is it not?^^ 

‘‘To be sure,^^ said the countess. ^^And it is certainly 
very attentive of him to call. Show him up at once, Par- 
kinson.^^ 

Parkinson bowed and disappeared with his customary 
^^Yes, my lady.'’^ And Rena Percival, who had grown first 
scarlet, and then pale, rose up and sat down again, as if un- 
decided what course to pursue. 

^‘Are you ill, Miss Percival?’' asked Captain Evelyn, with 
solicitude, and Lady Blanche looked up. 

‘^DoiFt go, Rena, darling, she said; ^^stay here. It is 
not probable that Lord Balfour will make a long call.’^ 

And as the opposite door opeiled and Parkinson ushered 
Lord Balfour into the apartment, Rena leaned back in her 
seat, closing her eyes, as the victim of the French guillotine 
might do before the hideous, shining ax descended upon 
her bared throat. It was too late even to flee away and 
hide herself now. She must face her fate. 

But to Lady Glenharnpton's infinite astonishment, the 
Marquis of Balfour, instead of greeting her, walked straight 
across the room to Miss Percival. 

^^Good-evening, Lady Blanche, he said, with bright cor- 
diality. 

She looked at him with wild, frightened eyes like those of 
a hunted deer, but she spoke no word of answer, and Lady 
Glenhampton instantly interposed. 

''There is some mistake. Lord Balfour,^^ she said, cour- 
teously. 'T am the Countess of Glenhampton, and this is 
my daughter, Lady Blanche Arden. The young lady whom 
you are addressing is Miss Percival, my daughter's com- 
panion." 


144 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


Lord Balfour stared at the speaker, as much astounded 
as a man might he who was told that the sky was scarlet 
instead of blue. 

^‘Miss Percival?^^ he repeated, slowly. ^Tardon me. Lady 
Glenhampton, but that must be impossible. This young 
lady is Lady Blanche Arden, whom my mother had the 
honor of presenting at court a few days ago.'^ 

Lady Glenhampton shrank back slightly. 

^^He is insane P she exclaimed, almost before she knew 
that she was speaking her thoughts aloud. 

But at this instant Rena rose, full restored to the pres- 
ence of mind that had momentarily deserted her. 

beg your pardon. Lady Glenhampton,^^ she said, coolly; 
“he is not insane, and to a certain degree he is speaking the 
truth. You may call it an act of impostorship if you like, 
or you may phrase it a simple masquerade — the truth is this: 
I was presented at court by Lady St. Burgoyne, under the 
name of Lady Blanche Arden. 

The Countess of Glenhampton^s smooth skin turned 
almost livid with rage; her black eyes literally blazed with 
jetty fire as she advanced a step or two and then stood still 
in front of Miss Percival, who boldly confronted her, secure 
in the belief that she had friends enough to aid her to w^eather 
the gale. 

“Miss Percival, she gasped, “do I hear aright? Is it 
possible that you have dared to assume the name of Lady 
Blanche Arden — to deceive the Duchess of St. Burgoyne — 
to appear in the presence of your sovereigns under a false 
name? No; I cannot believe itT 

“You may believe it,^^ Rena answered, calmly, “for it is 
every word of it tTue!” 

As she spoke «he lifted her soft, liquid eyes appealingly 
to Lord Balfour^s shocked face. 

“You will not judge me for a childish freak which has done 
no actual harm?’^ she murmured, softly. “I know it was 
wrong, but — but I could not resist the temptation. Only 
say that you forgive me.'^ 

“It is not necessary to say it,'^ he answered, frankly, as 
he pressed her hand, and she knew that, as far as he was 
concerned, she was safe. 

“RenaP^ Lady Blanche questioned, drawing near to her 
friend and looking at her with surprised eyes, “is it true?^^ 

“It is true, Blanche. Have I forfeited your love.^"^ 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


145 


^^You know beHer than to ask that question/^ said 
Blanche, reproachfully. ‘^It was nothing but a jest — but I 
do not comprehend how you could ever have had the cour- 

^^By Jove! it^s the pluckiest thing I ever heard ofT cried 
Captain Evelyn, pulling his long mustaches and looking tri- 
umphantly round, as if he were delighted at Renans prowess. 
^^So you cheated ^em all, did you? Why, it s as good as half 
the things one sees in the newspapers. 

^‘It was foolish,'^ said Rena, in a voice that was plaintively 
sweet, ‘^and I have regretted it since; but 

^^FoolishP echoed Lady Grlenhampton, severely; should 
think as much I Foolish is no word to express it — it is dis- 
graceful, criminal, outrageous! A girl who can thus set 
truth and decorum doubly at defiance is no fit companion 
for the Earl of Glenhampton^s daughter^^ 

^^]^ay. Lady Glenhampton,^'’ interposed Lord Balfour, 
^^you are too severe upon what was, after all, a mere girlish 
freak. Miss Percival has scarcely deserved so rigid a judg- 
ment.^' 

Lady Glenhampton bit her lower lip until the white rows 
of teeth nearly met — but Lord Balfour's kindly-meant inter- 
cession restored her to something like outward composure. 
She reseated herself once more, with an artificial smile, and 
without another glance toward Rena Percival began to ques- 
tion him concerning his mother the duchess, and to converse 
on various topics of current interest. 

But while Lord Balfour talked he never ceased to watch 
the beautiful face of the fair young culprit, whose pretty 
drooping air of penitence amused as well as fascinated 
him. 

suppose I ought to be angry with her for so elaborately 
and systematically deceiving us," he thought, ^^but I cannot, 
for the life of me, think of anything but a pretty child who 
has been naughty, and promises, with tears in his eyes, 
'^never to do so again!' " 

And when he finally took his leave he held Rena's hand 
with a gently significant pressure in his own, as he said: 

‘^Although Lady Blanche Arden seems miraculously to 
have lost her identity, I hope I may still number Miss Per- 
cival among the list of my friends!’' 

She answered him only by a mute, pleading look, but that 


146 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


last courteous speech angered Lady Glenhampton more 
deeply, if it were possible, than all that had gone before. 

‘‘Miss Percival,'’^ she said, with freezing hauteur, when 
the door had safely closed behind Lord Balfour, ‘‘you will 
of course perceive that this audacious piece of impertinence 
oil your part must part us at once and forever. I have en- 
dured much from you already, but I never imagined you 
could be so lost to all sense of propriety as you have proved 
since our departure for Brighton. You will leave this house 
to-morrow morning. My carriage shall convey you to Hart- 
ford Lodge, for although you have forfeited all claim to my 
consideration, I would not willingly turn you into the 
streets 

Kena sank back on the low chair from which she had 
risen to bid the Marquis of Balfour farewell. 

“Lady Glenhampton,^'’ she said, the pearl-bright tears 
trickling from between the fingers with which she covered 
her deadly pale face, “I am homeless and friendless — you 
have the power to insult me as you will!’'’ 

“By Jove, but she hasn’t, though!'” cried Captain Evelyn, 
stepping boldly into the breach. “I, for one, will not stand 
tamely by and hear you called names, even by my own 
mother. If the carriage takes you away to- morrow. I’ll be 
hanged if it doesn’t take me, too, and I swear I’ll never 
cross this threshold again!” 

And he looked as if he were fully in earnest. Blanche, 
too, had advanced to Eena’s side, and taken her head upon 
her bosom. 

“Not friendless, dear, as long as you have me by your 
side,” she murmured, softly. “Kena, they shall not part 
me from yen, the dearest companion I ever had! Mamma,” 
she added, looking resolutely up, “if Rena goes back to 
Hartford Lodge I shall accompany her thither. She shall 
not go alone! The eternal friendship we have vowed to each 
other would be worth but little if [were to desert her now.” 

“But, Blanche, she has deceived you — she has taken your 
very name shamelessly on herself.” 

“Because she knew I would cheerfully give her that, as 
well as anything else I have in the world,” Blanche rejoined. 
“Mamma, I am like Lord Balfour — I do not see that she 
has done anything so very terrible, after all.” 

Lady Glenhampton stood there, impotent and helpless in 
her rage as a chained tigress, Was this bold, beautiful 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


147 


young adventuress to defy her after all, and with the wea- 
pons of her own children’s love? 

^ ^Ernest/'’ she said, ^‘^you are surely not serious in what 
you said just now?'’^ 

^^Never was more serious in my life/^ said the young 
dragoon, stormily twisting his mustaches as if he were deter- 
mined to pluck them out by the roots. 

‘•Will you tell me what it is to you?^^ fiercely gasped the 
countess, “whether this girl returns to her native sphere, or 
continues to brazen it out here in a position in which she 
has shown that she does not know how to comport herself 
decently 

“It^’s so much to me that I don’t mean to stand here like 
a white-livered hound and hear her abused returned Cap- 
tain Evelyn, hotly. “I respect and admire her more than I 
can find any words to tell, and, though you were my mother 
fifty times over, I would not allow you to treat her in any 
way save that in which the highest lady of the land should 
be treated. Now youVe got my opinion, and I hope you are 
satisfied.'’^ 

He looked with a dogged determination at his mother as 
he spoke, and Eena Percival lifted her exultant eyes in a 
sort of triumphant defiance to her high-born enemy at the 
same moment. 

‘‘Shall I go or stay?^^ she asked, speaking to the Countess 
of Glenhampton, but looking at Blanche and Ernest. 

“Stay!^^ they both repeated, in one breath, and Lady 
Glenhampton^s arms fell helplessly by her side, while a sharp 
pang, like that which mortally wounded people feel, seemed 
to transfix her breast. - 

“Shall I go or stay?’^ she repeated, looking Lady Glen- 
hampton this time full in the face. “1 will only accept my 
verdict from your lips.^’ 

“Stay!” Lady Glenhampton murmured, but the word 
was wrung from the very bitterness of her heart. 

Eena Percival had won the victory! Lady Glenhampton^s 
own children, for whom she had done and dared, and suf- 
fered so much, sided with this bold, beautiful stranger 
against her! 


148 


fHE WIDOWED BRID^. 


CHAPTER XX. 

ItEJECTED LOVERS. 

Rena Percival returned to Glenhampton Castle, and the 
countess, inwardly disliking — nay, almost dreading her — 
found herself obliged to preserve an outward semblance of 
courtesy and sweetness. 

They had been scarcely ten days at the castle when, one 
sunny April afternoon. Lord Balfour rode up to the door 
on his beautiful milk-white horse Rajah. Rena, who 
chanced to be sitting alone in the shadow of the budding 
linden trees, burst into a joyous exclamation of surprise. 

^^So you did not expect to see me?'^ said the marquis, his 
face brightening at the earnestness of her welcome, as he 
sprang from his horse and threw his reins to the solemn 
groom in blue and buff livery, who was riding behind. 

she answered frankly, as she extended her hand, 

did not think I should ever see you again. Lord Balfour.'^ 

^Why not?^^ 

'^^Because,^^ and the carmine glow spread over her cheek, 
beneath the downcast lashes, feared I had forfeited all 
right to your kindly recollection or friendship. 

^^As if I were such a stern judge as that! No, Miss Per- 
cival; I extend no such severe censorship over a young girPs 
frolic. 

He sat down beside her on the long carved settee. Rena 
hesitated a moment. 

^"The countess and Lady Blanche are within,'^ she said. 

^‘We will go to them presently,^’ said Lord Balfour. 
^^Meanwhile the spring air and the fine view of yonder bud- 
ding copses are quite worthy of our enjoyment. 

hope the duchess is well,^^ said Rena, hesitatingly. 

•^She is well, thanks.^^ 

am sure she has not forgiven me!^^ said Rena, picking 
ruthlessly at a branch of faintly-odorous heliotrope that was 
pinned in her belt. 

^‘She was a little vexed at first — no one likes to find them- 
selves willfully deceived you know — but she has reached such 
a pitch of philosophy at present that she can laugh as heart- 
ily at the burlesque as you yourself. 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


14d 


you think so meanly of me that you can fancy I can 
laugh at my own folly and deceit asked Eena, indignantly. 

^^Nay, those are too harsh terms to use. However, we 
will not discuss the question. I am staying at Yyvyan Court 
just at present, and when I told my mother before leaving 
Balfour House that I should probably find my way over here 
to call, she bade me give you her love. So you see you are 
quite forgiven, little amateur actress though you were!^^ 

‘‘She is very kind,^^ said Rena, in a low voice, “but I do 
not think I deserve her leniency. Shall we go in now?^^ 

And she rose so resolutely that, although Lord Balfour 
would infinitely have preferred to prolong tete-a-tete, he 
could find no excuse. Somehow this fair young companion 
of Lady Blanche Arden had possessed in his eyes a name- 
less, unanalyzed attraction which had never, in his eyes, 
belonged to title dame, or dweller around the steps of the 
English throne. 

His stay at Yyvyan Court, originally designed only to be 
of a few days^ durance, lengthened itself out into weeks, and 
there were few bright days when he did not manage to find 
his way to Clenhampton Castle- on one pretext or another; 
and Rena Percival began, unconsciously, to look forward to 
his visits, and to feel disappointed when he did not come. 

In the midst of this unwritten idyl, a new element en- 
tered into the daily life at Clenhampton Castle. A bevy of 
visitors from London came down, and among them were 
Captain Ernest Evelyn and Lord Yere Temple. 

“Fate is determined to undo all my plans thought Lady 
Clenhampton, despairingly. But she was not one to aban- 
don her post while there was yet the shadow of a hope to 
cling to. 

“Ernest, she said, as she came upon him in the entrance 
hall the evening after his arrival, “where are you going?’^ 

. “To smoke in the shrubberies, mother. 

^‘Then I will walk with you. Ho; do not throw away 
your cigar. 

And she passed her arm caressingly through his as she 
led him out into the graveled walk leading to a secluded 
mass of foreign shrubs, where the purple spring twilight 
made a sort of enchanted light. 

“Ernest,'^ she said, “your father is coming home soon.^^ 

“My stepfather, you mean,^^ corrected the young man, 
carelessly, biting off the end of his cigar. 


150 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


has been to yon all that any father could he,” said 
Lady Glenhampton, with a little sigh, ‘^but I am almost 
afraid to show him those last bills of yours/^ 

^‘Lord Glenhampton knows that a man can't keep up any 
position in London without some expense," said Captain 
Evelyn, slightly shrugging his shoulders. 

^‘Some expense, yes; but not such extravagance as yours 
has been. My dear boy," she added, looking anxiously up 
in his face, ^^do you know how this sort of thing can 
possibly be expected to continue? You have no property of 
your own, and Lord Glenhampton, kind as he is, will some 
day be compelled, in self-defense, to put a limit to your ex- 
penditures." 

^‘But what is a fellow to do, mother?" asked Ernest, some- 
what impatiently. can't coin gold, neither do I know 
of any strong room full of diamonds that I can storm at the 
point of the bayonet!" 

‘^Ernest, you must marry rich." 

^^Very easy to say so, but heiresses are not like blackber- 
ries, growing on every bush." 

‘‘Georgine Cardiff is staying at Vyvyan Court, and she has 
a hundred thousand pounds in her own right." 

^'But Vyvyan Court is such a duse of a way off!" 

^^Only eight miles; and besides she is coming over to-mor- 
row to stay a couple of weeks with Blanche. Ernest, if one 
has really any energy at all, much may be done in two 
weeks." 

man might hang himself in less time than that," ob- 
served Captain Evelyn, sagely. 

don't see the connection of ideas," said the countess, 
irritably. 

"'But I do," nodded Ernest. "There, mother, don't look 
vexed. I'll do my best to entertain the Cardiff, to the ut- 
most of my ability. Don't I always try to make myself 
agreeable to all your guests?" 

"Yes, Ernest, but " 

At this moment they came upon Mr. Poynings strolling 
up the long walk on the way to the castle, and Lady Glen- 
hampton, rather reluctantly, turned back under his escort. 
She would fain have continued her walk with Ernest, but 
the young dragoon would not hear of it. 

"Upon my word, mother, you should not be out in this 
evening air!" he said, earnestly. "It's very bad for any one 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


151 


with the slightest tendency to weakness of the lungs, isn^t it, 
Poynings?^^ 

^‘Indeed, Lady Glenhampton, Captain Evelyn is right, 
said the lawyer, smoothly, as he proffered his arm. 

^‘But you are coming back, Ernest, said Lady Glen- 
hampton, anxiously. 

‘‘Presently, as soon as I have smoked my cigar out! Au 
revoir!^^ and Captain Evelyn waved his hand gayly to his 
mother. 

No sooner were the countess and Mr. Poynings out of 
sight, however, than Ernest Evelyn threw his cigar into a 
clump of magnificent glossy leaved rhododendrons and 
quickened his pace from a saunter into an earnest, energetic 
stride. He had overheard Eena Percival mention to his sis- 
ter that morning that she intended to walk down into the 
village after dinner to see a little sick child in whom she was 
interested, and he was eager to enjoy the walk back with 
her. 

Nor was he disappointed. Close to the northern park 
gates, sentineled by a handsome lodge built of cream-col- 
ored stone, he met Miss Percival. 

“Alone he asked, as careless as if he had naturally 
supposed she would be accompanied by an escort. 

“Yes,^’ she answered. 

“Then I may walk home with you?^’ 

“Certainly,'’^ she answered, lightly. “Any company is 
better than the ghost which is said to haunt Glenhampton 
Park after darkT^ 

“Not particularly complimentary to me.^^ 

“But true, nevertheless. Captain Evelyn,^^ said Eena, 
gravely, “have you known me so long without knowing that 
I never pay compliments?^' 

“I donTwant any compliments to-night, said the officer 
of dragoons. “I want you to be sincere. Miss Percival ''' 

“Which I always try to be. Captain Evelyn,^' she inter- 
rupted, rather mischievously. 

“For I have something to say to you,^^ he went on — 
“something on which the whole of my future life may de- 
pend I” 

“Oh, dear,^'' thought Eena, wringing her little white 
hands in the starlight, “he^s going to make love to me, and 
I haven’t the least idea what to say to him!” 


152 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


But she said nothing, only walked along, looking very 
stately and dignified. 

^‘And it is this,"'^ he added, seeing that no convenient ver- 
bal halting-place offered itself: ^"Miss Percival, I love you, 
and I would fain make you my wife."^ 

In the momentary silence that ensued, Ernest Evelyn 
fancied that she could hear the strong, tumultuous throb- 
bing of his heart. 

dare say Pve said it awkwardly, he went on. 
never possessed the gift of expression that some fellows have; 
but not the smoothest talker of them all could love you more 
dearly and earnestly than I do.'^ 

^ ^Captain Evelyn,^^ said Eena, hurriedly, ^^please unsay 
what you have just told me. Let me believe that it is all a 
mistake — a misinterpretation of your own feelingsT' 

‘‘1 love you,^^ he repeated, slowly, ^^as a man never loves 
but once in his life. Miss Percival, I cannot unsay it, for 
it is a part of my very existence. Give me my answer. I 
cannot endure the suspense very long. Tell me, yes or no — 
will you be my wife?^^ 

she answered, calmly. 

^^Why not?"^ he demanded, turning upon her almost sav- 
agely. 

^^Because I do not love you. Is not that reason enough 
^Tt would be a good match for you in the eyes of the 
world, Kena,'^ he persisted, scarcely able to realize that he 
had actually been rejected by his sister^s companion, 
do not care for the world. 

^^Kena,^^ he exclaimed, speaking in the low, husky voice 
of intense passion, ^^you have been playing double. You 
think that Lord Vere Templets wealth and position would 
be a brighter prize than the devotion of a poor soldier. 
But you are mistaken there — Yere Temple is as good as the 
betrothed bridegroom of Lady Blanche Arden, and if he 
dares to flirt with any other woman alive, I would as soon 
put a bullet through his brain as to shoot down a partridge. 
You had better beware, and so I warn you!^^ 

^T do not need your warning, Kena answered, with quiet 
dignity. ^^Lord Yere Temple is nothing to me. Captain 
Evelyn, you were my friend before, you are fast forfeiting 
all claim to that title now.^^ 

^'Rena! RenaP^ he moaned, in broken accents. ^T have 
been a mad fool — an idiot — but you will net treasure it in 


THE WinoWED BRIDE, 


153 


your heart against me! You will give me yet another op- 
portunity to regain the place in your esteem I have so in- 
sanely lost. Let me come to you a month hence for my 
answer, and in the meantime try to love me a little in re- 
turn for the undivided homage of my whole heart. 

‘‘hTeither months nor years would work any change in my 
feelings/^ she answered, resolutely. ^ ^Captain Evelyn, I 
have given you my final decision, and I forbid you to accom- 
pany me any farther 

She walked on, with royal step and dignified mien, never 
once turning her head back toward the spot where Ernest 
Evelyn stood, white as a marble statue, and full of a blank, 
yearning despair. 

^‘Poor fellow P she thought; ^^yet, had I worded it more 
gently, he would, inevitably, have construed pity into a 
warmer feeling. I do believe he loved me, and yet my soul 
could never have recognized in him the master-spirit of its 
existence. A month ago I believe I should have accepted 
him in exultant pride at being the chosen wife of Lady 
Glenhampton^s son and Lady Blanche Arden^s brother; 
now, all the world bears a different aspect to me.'’^ 

She could feel her face glow in the semi-darkness of the 
balmy spring evening, as she asked herself the question why 
this was so. She could feel the soft, muffled beatings of 
her heart, and was content that it should be thus. 

^‘Miss Percivair^ 

She started convulsively, with a slight cry of terror, as 
the shubbery rustled at her side, and a tall figure stood 
close to her, but the next instant she recognized Lord Vere 
Temple. 

‘G am a careless blockhead to frighten you thus, Miss 
Percival,^^ he said, evidently much vexed with himself; 
^^but I wanted to see you before you reached the house. 

^Ts any one ill?^^ she asked, pausing abruptly. 

^"Not that I am aware of. Why?'^ 

could only conclude from your manner that you were 
the messenger of evil things, she answered, dryly. 

He laughed. 

“^My manner must be peculiarly unfortunate,^^ he said. 
‘^Perhaps you have not perceived that I have been trying to 
secure a private interview with you for the last few days?^^ 
have not perceived it/^ she answered, curtly; ^‘nor can 


154 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


I imagine why you should desire any such unprofitable way 
of spending your time/^ 

^ ^Perhaps, Miss Percival, if you were to hear me out 

'^But I do not wish to hear you out!^^ interrupted Kena, 
with a vehemence that only gave additional charm to her 
piquant manner. ^‘Whatever you wish to say to me had 
better be said in the presence of the other guests at Glen- 
hampton Castle, and any private interviews you may have, 
must be with Lady Blanche Arden rather than with Kena 
Percival.''^ 

^^Miss Eena Percival, you are exceedingly frank, said 
Lord Vere, with an air of undisguised chagrin. 

‘^And I intended to be. Have I offended you, Lord 
Vere?^^ 

suppose I ought to be offended,^^ he answered, after a 
second^s hesitation. 

^^Not at all,^^ said Kena, changing her voice from its cold, 
hard ring to a deliciously coaxing intonation. ^‘We have 
always been excellent friends. Lord Vere — we are not going 
to be enemies now.^^ 

Friends 9” he asked, meaningly. 

^^Yes, only friends. Do we part thus?^' 

She held out her hand. He took it as frankly as it was 
offered, and so Lord Vere Templets love-making was nipped 
remorselessly in the bud. 

Blanche Arden did not see her friend until late that night, 
when Rena came into her room. 

^'Well, my dear Blanche,^’ she asked, pressing her cool 
lips to Lady Blanche's forehead, ^"what sort of an evening 
have you had?^^ 

^^A delightful one!^^ answered Lady Blanche, enthusiastic- 
ally; ‘ ^ but where were you 

^^Oh, wandering about in the starlight like a lost spirit! 
And how did you amuse yourself 

^^Singing to Vere, most of the time, I believe,^^ the young 
girl answered, shyly. ^‘Dear Kena, you can't think how 
delightful it was — he seemed to have resumed his old tender 
manner. I think he does like me a little after all!" 

‘^A great deal, I should judge," said Rena. ^‘Remem- 
ber about the bridesmaid ])romise, Blanche!" 

“I will not forget," whispered Blanche. “And Rena — 
you will let me tell you, won’t you, for it was such a wicked 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


155 


fancy, and I can^t rest until I have unburdened my abomin- 
able little heart of it!^^ 

^^What was it?’^ asked Eena, caressingly, touching the 
bright hair of the girl. 

‘‘I fancied at one time — of course it was all my imagina- 
tion, dearest — that he liked you, and that you would have 
been pleased to be Lady Vere Tern pie 

^‘What a ridiculous idea!"^ said Eena, with the utmost 
gravity. 

^‘Was it not?^^ cooed the happy young creature, secure in 
her own empire of youth and love. ^‘Of course I know it 
now, but I was very wretched at one timel^^ 

^^And served you right!^^ said Eena. ^‘Now, Blanche, lis- 
ten to me — whatever may happen in the future, and no one 
can tell what possibility lies before us — never doubt or dis- 
believe in me again! Promise me this!^^ 

And Blanche Arden, holding her friend close to her 
heart, murmured softly and fervently: 
promised 

Lady Glenhampton went to her son^s room that night, 
after the drawing-room circle had broken up, and the guests 
dispersed — perhaps she had something more to say to him 
about Miss Cardiff, the Welsh heiress — and tapped softly at 
the door. 

^^Come in!’^ he called, recklessly. 

She pushed open the door and entered. The lights were 
flaring to and fro in the draughts from the open window — 
the floor was strewn with the disorderly concomitants of 
packing, while Captain Evelyn sat in an easy-chair, pale and 
haggard, directing the actions of Hermann, his servant, who 
knelt before an open valise. 

^ ‘Ernest she exclaimed, stopping short in her amaze- 
ment. 

^Ts it you, mother? Sit down — there’s room enough here 
somewhere, I suppose,” and he pushed a pile of books from 
a cushioned chair. 

^^But what does it mean, Ernest? You are not going 
away?” 

^‘Yes, I am!” he answered, moodily. 

Where?” 

don’t know — to Jericho, for all I care! Anywhere 
away from this place!'' 

'‘But, Ernest, Miss Cardiff is coming to-morrow T 


156 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


^^Let her come — she is nothing to me/' 

^'Ernest/^ exclaimed Lady Glenhampton, beginning to 
be seriously alarmed, ""what is the matter?'-^ 

""Don^t ask me any questions, mother, he answered, with 
an impatient backward toss of his hair. ""Em tired of Glen- 
hampton, and I'm going away." 

"‘Is not this a sudden resolution, Ernest?" 

""All my resolutions are sudden, mother, I believe," he 
answered, with a mirthless laugh. 

‘"But what will our guests think?" 

""AVhat they please — it is quite indifferent to me." 

""What can I say to them? W^hat will Miss Cardiff sup- 
pose? Oh, Ernest, reconsider this mad freak of yours!" she 
pleaded, putting her hand appealingly upon his shoulder. 

""It is no freak, mother, but a settled purpose," he replied. 
""Make what excuses you please — you never were at a loss 
yet for a subterfuge. I am off by to-morrow morning's 
train." 

And all Lady Glenhampton's entreaties were but as idle 
air to prevail on him to alter his determination. Long be- 
fore the guests at the castle had assembled round the next 
morning's breakfast-table Captain Evelyn was miles away, 
steaming over the iron track of the Northwestern railway. 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE 


157 


CHAPTER XXL 

KE2>rA PERCIVAL^S SISTER. 

The June roses that mantled the gray stone walls of Tre- 
garvan Rectory were a sheet of crimson bloom — the sunny 
air was musical with the hum of gold-belted bees, and the 
humming-birds darted in and out of the foliage like ani- 
mated blossoms. 

Alice Percival was sitting on the doorstep, feeding a brood 
of hungry little ducklings, that swarmed fearlessly around 
her feet, with crumbs of soaked bread, quite unconscious 
of the pretty picture she made. 

^^Come here, you little truant, she said, half aloud, to 
one small downy creature, who persisted in running round 
the edge of the doorstep after an imaginary fly, which had 
long since made good its escape. ^^You are like the rest of 
the world — too ready to barter substance for shadow. 

She took the tiny, struggling thing in her gentle hand as 
she spoke, and set it down among its brethren. Little 
Agnes Eskett came out at the same moment, her face full 
of beaming importance. 

^^Miss Percival, she said, gleefully, ^^we are going to 
have company.^' 

' ^ ^ Are we said Alice. ^^But are we going to have our 
Latin verbs more perfect to-day than they were yesterday?” 

^^Xo; but don^t you want to know who is coming?” said 
the little girl. 

^‘Well, no; I am not particularly curious upon the sub- 
ject, Agnes.” 

^"It^s Captain Evelyn.” 

^^Captain Evelyn!” Alice sat up now, and Ie£t the nine 
yellow little ducklings to quarrel over the bowl of soaked 
bread at their leisure. ^‘From Glenhampton Castle?” 

‘‘Yes,” assented Agnes, delighted to have succeeded in 
attracting her governess’ attention at last. “Papa had a 
telegram this morning asking him to send to the station for 
the noon train. Wouldn’t you like to ride over in the car. 
Miss Percival?” 

“No; it would be tgo warm,” said Alice, her heart throb- 


168 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


bing, nevertheless, at the idea of news from Eena. ^‘Has 
Captain Evelyn ever been here before, Agnes 

“Oh, yes; he used to be papa’s little pupil years ago, and 
he often comes to visit us. He’s real nice; he knows lots of 
games, and he taught us croquet the last time he was here. 
Phebe says she’s going to be his little wife.” 

While Agnes was imparting this morsel of news to her 
governess Mrs. Eskett was in the study hurrying her hus- 
band on his journey to the station to meet the expected 
guest. 

When, two hours later, the Eev. Mr. Eskett returned to 
Tregarvan Eectory, accompanied by Captain Evelyn, Mrs. 
Eskett received her husband’s former pupil with the smil- 
ing cordiality that seemed inherent in her nature; the little 
girls ran to meet him, each striving which should be fore- 
most to receive his kiss, and it was not until he entered the 
the shady sitting- room that he saw a slight figure, sitting, 
as it were, in a background of roses by the open window — 
a figure all in white, with bright brown hair and eyes of the 
softest violet gray, but nevertheless so startlingly like Eena 
Percival that he stopped abruptly. 

“Oh, I forgot,” said Mrs. Eskett, advancing at the same 
moment, “you have not been introduced to my friend. Miss 
Percival. Alice, this is Captain Evelyn!” 

“Miss Percival!” muttered Ernest, contriving to bow, 
although he felt as if he were in a dream. Had he fled 
resolutely, from the presence of one beautiful enchantress, 
only to meet her double in the wild solitudes of the Welsh 
hills? A bewildered sensation stole over his brain — the 
room swam around him for an instant, while Alice Perci- 
val’s lovely face seemed to look at him from misty clouds! 
And then little Emily Eskett ran up to him with one of the 
downy ducklings in her hand to call his attention to its 
marvelous developments of web feet; the fair apparition 
glided away, and the charm was momentarily dispelled. 

“Miss Percival,” he repeated, turning to Mrs. Eskett. 
“My sister has a friend staying with her, at the castle, of 
that name — they are relatives, I presume.” 

“They are sisters, ’ said Mrs. Eskett. “Did your sister’s 
friend never tell you that Alice was our governess here?” 

“Never!” 

“That is strange, too,” said the rector’s wife. “But she 
is a very lovely girl, and we are delighted with her,” 


JKE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


15? 


^^How long has she been with you asked Captain Evelyn. 

‘^Nearly a year.''^ 

Captain Ernest Evelyn had no opportunity to see much 
more of Kena's sister until late in the afternoon, when she 
came out with a basket of roses in her hand, her beautiful 
face shaded with a broad-brimmed straw hat. 

“They are wonderfully alike,^^ he thought, as he watched 
her light figure move down the garden walk with a sort of 
swaying grace. ‘^But Rena is a lovely landscape seen in the 
glow of sunshine, and this girl is like the same thing by 
moonlight! Yet there is a marvelous similarity. 

As the thoughts passed through his mind, he rose and 
advanced courteously toward the girl. 

^‘Let me carry the basket. Miss Percival?^^ 

am only going a little way,^^ said Alice, shrinking and 
coloring, for her secluded life at Tregarvan Rectory had 
unused her to society. 

^‘But it is too heavy for you to carry even a little way,^' 
he rejoined, laughingly. ^^Even roses have weight, and I 
should judge by the avoirdupois of the basket there is some- 
thing more substantial beneath.^' 

^^You are right, said Alice, laughing, as the pleasant 
nonchalance of his manner restored her own ease; ^‘it is a 
basket of good things which Mrs. Eskett wishes carried to 
old Paul Powis, who is ill with the rheumatism, and lives 
just beyond the hill.'^ 

^‘Do you know. Miss Percival,^^ said Ernest, as he walked 
along, “that you are wonderfully like 3mur sister P 

Alice looked up, with a bright smile and a blush. 

“I was wishing to ask you about Rena,^^ she said. “It is 
several weeks since I received a letter from her. Is she 
well?^^ 

“Quite well, I believe.^^ 

“And happy 

“How can any one fail to be happy who receives such 
universal homage as she?^^ asked Captain Evelyn, with a 
hidden accent of bitterness that Alice failed to comprehend. 
“My sister Blanche worships her; she reigns at Glenhampton 
Castle as if she were a crowned queen. Happy! Of course 
she is happy !'^ 

“She deserves it,^^ said Alice enthusiastically. 

“I do not doubt that in the least/^ Captain Evelyn an- 
swered. 


160 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


^^Does she ever speak of me?^^ asked Alice, her loving 
heart still yearning for some definite, circumstantial news 
of Eena. 

^"She has told me that she had a sister who was a govern- 
ess, but she never told me that she was at Tregarvan Eec- 
tory/" 


CHAPTEE XXIL 

MISS CLIVERS ROOM. 

Miss Georgine Cardiif, the famous heiress, had just saun- 
tered into the breakfast-room at Glenhampton Castle. She 
was a large, fair girl, with languid blue eyes, golden hair, 
and features too full for beauty. But people told Georgine 
she was handsome, and she had somehow fallen into a habit 
of believing what people told her. She was good-natured, 
after her dull, undemonstrative way, and one of her most 
active fancies of late was an enthusiastic devotion to Eena 
Percival. 

^^You are so pretty, you seeP^ said the heiress. ^^And I 
do so like to look at you. In a different style from me, of 
course — people can^t all be alike — but I somehow think we 
seem to set each other off.^^ 

She was delighted to see Eena in the breakfast-room as 
she entered. 

^^You were waiting for me, wereiPt you, darling?'^ she 
cried, gleefully. always like some one to talk to me when 
I eat my breakfast. Who is that riding up to the door — I 
can hear the sound of horses^ feet on the gravel? Perhaps 
it is Captain Evelyn come back!^^ 

Georgine's face grew radiant at the rather improbable 
idea, for she had been sorely disappointed at the unaccount- 
able defection of her promised cavalier, but a card brought 
to her presently dispelled the illusion. 


THE WIDOWED BE IDE. 


16 ^ 


-•The Marquis of Balfour/^ she read, and nnderneat 
were the penciled words leave to deliver a message u 
Miss Cardiff, from Mrs. Vyvyan, of the Court.^^ 

^^Ask him to come up here/^ said Georgine, complacently. 
^^How do I look, Eena? Is my sash straight behind? Oh, 
do lend me that delicious little blue bow of yours for my 
hair, there^'s a love! . Lord Balfour was exceedingly polite to 
me when I was staying with dear Kate Vyvyan, and I some- 
times fancy — it’s a ridiculous idea, isiiT it, Kena? — that he 
admires me particularly. But where are you going, dear?^’ 
Georgine stared with wide-open, pale blue eyes at Miss Per- 
civai as she moved toward the door. 

‘ 'To my own room, Georgine. Lord BalfouPs call is not 
intended for rne.^^ 

^‘But 

Eena stayed to hear no more, and not until she was safe 
in the corridors did she pause to ask herself why she had 
fled thus precipitately from the presence of the man she 
most respected and esteemed in all the world. Her heart 
throbbed convulsively, che color glowed on her cheek, and 
even the distant sound of a servants foot on the stairs made 
her start. 

must see him no more,^^ Eena thought. ^Hf he does 
not care for me, all associations that tend to feed this inward 
fever at my heart must be broken off; if he does — then 
there will be all the more reason that we should hencefor- 
ward be as strangers to each other !'■’ 

She stood leaning over the carved balustrade, when a door 
close to her opened, and Miss Clivers tall, dark, solid flgure 
glided but. She started with a slight cry. 

^‘You need not be afraid, Eena Percival,^^ said Miss Clive, 
with a bitter smile. ^T am neither ghost nor witch, although 
I believe some of tlie people in Glenhampton take me for bcth 
the one and the other.’"’ 

was not afraid,"’’ Eena answered, ^^but I never knew 
there were any doors behind those folds of tapestry. 

‘^You are not initiated in all the mysteries of the castle 
yet,^’ Miss Clive rejoined. “In all the months you have 
sojourned at Glenhampton, you have never seen my room 
“Ko,^^ Miss Percival answered, doubtfully. 

“Would you like to see it?^^ 

“If you choose to show it to me.^^ 


162 THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 

Antonia Clive lifted a heavy fold of tapestry, and opened 
a door behind it. 

^^Enter/^ she said, briefly, and, with a vivid sensation of 
curiosity, Rena Percival followed her into the apartment 
kept so secret from the rest of the world. 

She shuddered as she looked around, and well she might, 
for the hangings and draperies of the room were of black 
serge, the carpet of black, and the furniture of ebony wood 
j upliolstered in black velvet. 

' “Does it seem gloomy to yon?^’ Miss Clive asked, watch- 
ing Rena's face with keen, glittering eyes. 

“It seems like a tomb I'' the girl answered, involuntarily. 

“It is a tomb,'' Miss Clive said, in low, impressive tones; 
“the tomb of my buried heart and hope. Oh, Rena Perci- 
val, you are young as yet, but if you had lived ten long years 
of despair, as I have done, you would learn to wonder what 
God s sunshine means, and why his vengeance does not 
come down upon the blood-stained head of the guilty mur- 
derer!’' 

“Do you mean " 

“I mean but one thing," the strange, pale woman inter- 
rupted, sharply. ‘^‘My life has but one signification. I re- 
fer to the murderer of Arthur Hunsworth. Sit down there, 
Rena Percival." 

She drew forward one of the black walnut chairs, and 
Rena seated herself, wondering what was coming next, and 
half regretting that she had allowed herself to be conducted 
into this casket of funereal gloom. 

“You know the story of my bereavement," she began, 
briefly, as she stood before her guest. “You have been told 
how, upon the very day previous to that appointed for my 
wedding, I came suddenly upon the corpse of my murdered 
lover! It is no secret at Glenhampton — everybody must 
have heard of it!" 

“I know it," Rena answered. “Blanche Arden has told 
it all to me." 

“That is the beginning. of the story," said Miss Clive. 
“The end is yet to come." 

“The end?" repeated Rena, questioningly. 

“The end comes only upon the day in which I shall drink 
the cup of vengeance to the dregs," said Antonia, with slow, 
frightful emphasis. “See here." 

With a key which she drew from her bosom she unlocked 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


163 


a drawer in her ebony wood escritoire and took out a small 
dagger, with red, rusty stains upon its tarnished blade, and 
a handle of antique yellow ivory curiously carved in imita- 
tion of a turning serpent, with eyes of emerald, while the 
body of the serpent was covered with fine hieroglyphic chas 
ings in black, save where the influence of time had worn 
them away into comparative smoothness. 

"‘What are those stains?"’ Rena asked, as she looked shud- 
deringly at the deadly instrument. 

"‘Blood!"" Miss Clive answered in a whisper; ""the blood 
of Arthur Hunsworth!"" 

""How do you know?"" cried Rena, recoiling as if the gore 
were still fresh and warm upon the blade. 

“How do I know that there is a heaven above us — a place 
of departed spirits beyond? I know it, and that is enough. 
Moreover, I will tell you more,"" and again she lowered her 
voice to a whisper. "‘I found this dagger, days after they 
had laid him in his bloody grave — found it, deep down in 
the tangled roots and fern, where I had searched before with 
no result. But I was never discouraged. I knew that if I 
persevered he would give me some sign, some token from the 
silence of the grave. Every inch of that ground was gone 
over again and again by those whose business it was to probe 
the mystery to the bottom. Why was it left for me to find 
this thing by which the deed was done, when all hope was 
given over? I tell you the hand of fate was in it!"" 

She pressed the blade to her lips ere she laid it back in 
the drawer. 

“You wonder to see me do that,"" she said, reading the 
unconcealable expression of Rena"s face. ""But you would 
not if you knew all it has been to me. It spoke to me 
out of the gloom of mystery — it will yet point out to me 
the clear path to vengeance! No one knows of its exist- 
ence save you and me!"" 

“Blit,"" asked Rena, ""why do you not consult others?"" 

""I har>e consulted others — I consulted them when Arthur 
Hnnsworth"s dead body lay in this house, and twelve gen- 
tlemen of the land in council assembled as a coroner"s 
jury, proved to me the utter folly and impotence of hu- 
man skill and reason. Do you suppose I will trust my 
chances to them again? Never! I don"t know why I have 
shovved it to you — perhaps because the necessity of some 
voice or look of sympathy was strong in my soul. I have 


164 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


acted from an in'.pnlse which I cannot explain to myself. 
Nor do I regret it/’ she added, dreamily. 

^'Still/^ said Eena, following up the chain of thought that 
was in her mind, ^‘the dagger is but one link in the evi- 
dence 

^‘^The rest will surely be forthcoming,^’ said Miss Clive, 
with a sort of blind reliance that seemed like instinct. 
arn only waiting! The day will come, and the hour, in 
which my hand shall deal the vengeance which has been so 
long in ripening. The world is a world of mysteries, but 
the clew to them all will come in time. Else, why am I 
suffered to live on when heart and life and secret hope have 
been dead so long?^^ 

She stood there like a Sibyl of old, and Eena Percival felt 
a sensation of awe creep slowly through her veins as she sat 
watching her and listening to her slowly spoken w^ords. Her 
unshaken faith was contagious in its influence. Eena, too, 
felt herself drawn into the current — she believed, also, that 
Antonia Clive was not biding her time in vain. Miss Clive 
saw the effect her words had produced, and smiled trium- 
phantly. 

^‘Miss Percival,^’ said she, have been studying you all 
these months, although you have not knowm it. I think 
that those who, like me, live secluded from the world, be- 
come adepts in the book of human nature, and judge by 
many trifles, to which others would scarcely pause to give a 
thought. I have read your character, and I like you. It is 
not so with Edith Glenhampton.'’^ 

said Eena, smiling contemptuously, ^‘she hates 

meT^ 

^^Ah! you have found it out for yourself, then,^^ said Miss 
Clive. ^^Come, I will not keep you any longer in this tem- 
ple of death. 

^‘^Glenhampton Castle is full of strange, hidden nooks, 
said Eena, as she preceded Miss Clive out into the hall. 
think its every corner is familiar to me, and then, all of a 
sudden, I come across some new mystery. I have never yet 
seen those rooms in the upper part of the Haunted Tower. 

^‘Have you not?’’ asked Miss Clive, with some appearance 
of interest lighting up her dull, corpse-like face. ^‘They 
are worth seeing. I remember as much as that in the old 
times, although I have never been in them since he died. 
Some day we will go there together.” 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


165 


^^But Lady Glenhampton always keeps the keys in her 
own possession/’ said Keiia. 

"‘We will get them from her; she never refuses anything 
to me/’ 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

“i^EVER/' 

If Rena Percival supposed that by any reserve or seclusion 
on her own part she could interpose a barrier between her- 
self and Lord Balfour^s evidently increasing admiration she 
Judged on very insufficient premises. Love was a late-grow- 
ing plant in the marquis^ life; nor had he any idea that it 
should be ruthlessly blasted in the bud without his knowing 
why. 

George Wargran^ the Marquis of Balfour, was one whose 
existence had been comparatively valueless to him up to the 
present time. It was true that he possessed wealth and 
rank. It was also true that he bore one of the oldest names 
in the kingdom, and was heir-apparent to the noble duke- 
dom of St. Burgoyne, with its estates, residences, and hered- 
itai-y pi’ivileges; but these, to a person of his peculiar tem- 
perament, were not sufficient in themselves. His life as a 
boy and a youth had not been over pleasant; for, although 
his rnother was one of Nature’s noble women, and one whom 
he could love and respect with all the force of his enthusias- 
tic nature, his other parent had fallen far short in his esti- 
mation of a man’s true position. The present Duke of St. 
15ui*goyne was a petty tyrant — a man of violent passions, 
j^'aious suspicion, and repulsive manners. He had hated 
his son because Lord Balfour was frank, true and noble~in 
every respect a contrast to himself. He disliked his wife 
because he was never able to comprehend the loftiness of 
her nature as compared to his own; and it was a relief to 
both the duchess and her son when Lord St. Burgoyne de- 


166 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


cided to accept a high diplomatic position at the court of 
Vienna, and left England, as it happened, forever. And 
it was with the wretchedness of his own patrician home in 
his memory that Lord Balfour resolved never to marry, but 
to devote himself entirely for the rest of their natural lives 
to his mother. 

Notwithstanding his resolution, he was forced, at last, to 
acknowledge to himself that his heart was captivated by the 
liquid brown eyes, rose-leaf cheeks, and bird-like voice of a 
girl who had neither descent nor fortune; who had set eti- 
quette, propriety, and truth itself equally at defiance, and 
who occupied a position not even so well defined as that of 
companion to the Lady Blanche Arden. 

^'Balfour r said the Duchess of St. Burgoyne, solemnly, 
when her son, who had never been able to keep a secret 
from her since he was four years old, frankly confessed to 
her the new idea which had taken possession of his mind, 
believe you are crazy 

'^You cannot believe it any more sincerely than I do, 
mamma, owned up the marquis, with a comical uplifting 
of his eyebrows; “but it is a very pleasant sort of insanity!’^ 

^^Do you really love that girl well enough to make her 
your wife?^^ 

“Yes,^^ he answered, gravely, “I do.^^ 

^^Why, then,^^ said the duchess, “there^s but one thing 
for you to do in the matter.^' 


“To go to Florence, or St. Petersburgh, or the shores of 
the Nile, I suppose you will say?^^ asked Balfour. 

“No; to marry her!^^ 

“That is just what I have made up my mind to do,^^ ob- 
served Lord Balfour; “that is, if she will honor me so far 
as to accept my offer. 

“She will do that fast enough, said the duchess, with 
that blind confidence in the superior attractions of her son, 
as far as those of the opposite sex were concerned, which 
we often see in mothers. And, really, in this particular 
case, she had some reason for believing in her son. 

“I am not so sure of that,'’^ observed the marquis; “but 
if I should be sufficiently fortunate to win her consent, you 
will give her a welcome to Balfour House 

“Of course I will,” answered the duchess, with hearty 
cordiality. “The woman who is worthy to be my son^s 
wife, is worthy of a place in my heart, also/^ 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


167 


^^You are the dearest old mamma in the world,” said 
Lord Balfour, with a warm caress. 

And thus strengthened in the cause in which he was 
already so determined. Lord Balfour set out for Glenhamp- 
ton Castle, resolved to strike at least one doughty blow for 
the guerdon of Kena PercivaFs love. 

The servant whom Lord Balfour met in the hall directed 
him at once to Miss Percival, who was arranging some flow- 
ers in the west drawing-room. 

At the unexpected sound of a man^s footstep on the thres- 
hold, she glanced up and colored deeply as she recognized 
the Marquis of Balfour. 

will call Lady Glenhampton directly,” she said, drop- 
ping a bunch of wax-white orange blossoms as she returned 
his greeting. “I believe she is in the conservatory.” 

^‘But I did not come to see Lady Glenhampton,” said 
Lord Balfour, composedly. 

^‘Lady Blanche is playing croquet— she ” 

‘‘1 know it — I saw her as I came in,” answered Lord Bal- 
four. ^Gt is you that I called to see this morning. Miss 
Percival. Will you allow me to bring you a chair?” 

Kena perceived but too plainly that there was no outlet 
of escape for her this time. She sat down in the light chair 
Lord Balfour placed for her with a sort of resigned despera- 
tion, and began nervously to twist the stem of a half-blown 
rosebud between her fingers. 

^‘You see 1 am determined not to be evaded any longer. 
Miss Pervival,” said the young man, calmly; ‘^or is it all my 
own imagination, that you have systematically avoided me 
of late?” 

‘Gt is not your imagination,” said Rena in a low tone. 

“Then may I ask if my presence is so disagreeable to 
you ?” 

^‘It is not that.” 

^‘Do you really wish to escape my companionship?” he 
asked, looking as intently at her as if her fair face were an 
enigma which he was determined to read. 

^^Yes.” 

The answer came in a low tone, but it was firmly spoken. 

^‘Yet you assert that it is from no personal dislike or an- 
tipathy. Miss Percival, I cannot understand you.” 

Rena was silent, but the carmine blood still glowed be- 
neath her transparent skin, and he could see that the rose- 


168 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


bud in her hand trembled as if a south wind had stirred its 
creamy petals. 

^•The truth is/^ he said, after a moment’s silence, ‘‘I am 
resolved to cut this Gordian knot of perplexity. It is a 
matter of vital moment to me. Eena, will you think me 
presumptuous if I tell you how necessary you have become 
to the happiness of myself? — if I ask you to give that life 
its crowning grace and charm by becoming my wife?” 

The carmine went and came on Kena’s cheek, and her 
eyes glowed with a troubled light. 

‘‘Oh, Lord Balfour!” she said, in broken accents, as he 
paused, evidently awaiting her reply, “I have not deserved 
this honor at your hands.” 

“Dear Rena, you deserve a woman’s noblest and highest 
place!” he answered, his voice thrilling with the earnestness 
of his soul. ‘T know not how or where I have grown to 
love you so deeply and passionately, but of this I am quite 
certain — the strongest instincts of my whole nature have 
gone out toward you. You will be my wife, Rena?” 

“No, Lord Balfour.” 

He looked at her in sort of shocked surprise. Evidently 
this answer was the one he had least expected. 

“Rena, you do not mean it. You are speaking now from 
some momentary pique, some impulse which is leading you 
falsely. I will accept no such answer. My beautiful wild 
rose, my queen, you will give yourself to me!” 

“Never!” 

There was no mistaking the emphasis of her tones this 
time, and to give it additional weight she lifted her eyes and 
fixed them full upon his face. 

“Have I then allowed myself to be so misled ?” he ex- 
claimed, involuntarily clenching his right hand until the 
nails cut into the palm like so many points of steel. “Well, 
so let it be. Conceit and mad folly Avill, sooner or later, 
find their own level, and I have found mine.” 

“I cannot allow you to judge yourself thus harshly. 
Lord Balfour,” said Rena, rousing herself into animation. 

“Upon what other ground can I account for the strange 
delusion under which I have labored?” he asked, bitterly. 
“How, otherwise, could I have been insane enough to fancy 
that you loved me?” 

“It was no fancy,” Rena answered, her eyes fixed on the 
flower she held. 


7 HE WIDOWED BRIDE. 169 

His face grew strangely bright. 

^‘Kena, my heart's darling, you do love me, then?'^ 

^‘Yes,'' she replied, in strange, hard accents which con- 
trasted singularly with the thrilling tenderness of his; ^‘but 
1 never can marry you." 

^‘Why not?" 

“1 had rather you would not press me for reasons. Lord 
Balfour." 

‘'But, Eena, after what you have already confided to me 
it becomes my right to question you further. You love me, 
yet you will not marry me. What strange riddle is this?" 

‘It is because I love you that I will not marry you?" she 
cried, vehemently. "Oh, Lord Balfour, do you think it has 
cost me nothing to decide upon this ? Do you suppose I am 
sacrificing my life and my life's happiness upon the altar of 
a mere idle whim?" 

He looked at her earnestly. 

"Your lauguage grows more and more inexplicable to 
me," he said. 

"You are almost tempted to think me mad!" she cried, 
springing to her feet and throwing the curls back from her 
forehead with a short laugh. "But I am not mad. Lord 
Balfour — any jury of physicians could tell you that, unless 
people go mad with the dull, aching pain at their hearts." 

He arose, and advancing toward her, took both her hands 
in his. 

"Eena, you shall tell me why you will not become my 
wife!" 

"Because you are the Marquis of Balfour, descended from 
a long line of unsullied ancestry, and I am only poor little 
Eena Percival, with scarcely the heritage of a name. Do 
you think I will drag you down with me?" 

"But, Eena, my jewel, my priceless pearl among women," 
he murmured, tenderly, "I love you, and love knows no out- 
ward ranks nor distinctions." . > 

"And because you are generous enough to forget the wide 
gulf of caste that separates us, do not think I can be so base 
as to let you throw yourself away on me? No, Lord Balfour, 
I am not ashamed to own that I love you as truly as ever 
will the high-born woman who is one day destined to be the 
Marchioness of Balfour, but I never shall be to you any 
more than I am now." 

He gazed into her cheery, sparkling eyes with new admir- 


170 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


atioii — it seemed as if he were learning more and more of 
the hidden beauty of her soul. 

woman but yourself, Kena Percival/^ he said, ‘^shall 
ever be the Marchioness of Balfour. You have owned that 
you love me — what remains for you but to become my 
wife?^^ 

^‘The poor glow-worm loves the star — the feeble torch 
may love the glory of the midday sun, but there the pa- 
rallel ceases, she answered, with a melancholy smile. 
did not think ever to have spoken to mortal ears the words 
that have this day passed my lips, but once spoken they 
must be forgotten forever. Let me pass, Lord Balfour; our 
interview is over!^^ 

^‘EenaT^ he said, although chivalrously obedient to the 
words of her behest, he had abandoned his clasp of her ice- 
cold hand, ^^could you leave me thus?^^ 

‘^One day you will thank me for it,'^ she answered, paus- 
ing at the sound of his voice, although her touch was already 
on the handle of the door. 

^‘Hear me but an instant longer, he pleaded, in accents 
to which she could not refuse to listen. ^‘Let us forget the 
pitiful distinctions of birth to which you have alluded, let 
us remember only that our two hearts were created to thrill 
responsive, each to the other's throbs! Rena, my love, my 
darling, to be your husband wdll be a greater honor in my 
eyes than if you were a crowned queen or the daughter of a 
line of emperors! Mj mother is prepared to welcome you 
as a dear and cherished child of her own — my own life will 
be desolate and drear without you! Once more, Rena, T 
beg you to seal my fate, and tell me that you will be mine!" 
cannot be your wife!" she uttered, in a low trembling 

voice. 

‘'Is this decision entirely irrevocable?" 

“It is!" 

And while he stood there, in the fixed intensity of de- 
sp lir, she vanished from his sight. 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


171 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

LADY Blanche's suitors. 

* Through one of the many strange coincidences in this 
world, which rival the most glowing scenes of romance, at 
the same time that the Marquis of Balfour was vainly urg- 
ing his suit to Rena Percival, a second affair of the heart 
was transpiring among the rhododendrons at the eastern 
front of Glenhampton Castle, where a rustic temple, its 
colonnades overgrown with woodbine and ivy, stood within 
the musical sound of a fountain, where a group of cupids 
seemed to disport themselves around the edge of a huge 
marble shell, dripping wdth limpid water. It was the very 
place for love to breathe its numbers, and so, perhaps. Lord 
Vere Temple thought, when the guests all scattered in dif- 
ferent directions at the breaking up of the croquet party, 
and he led Lady Blanche Arden to this particular spot. 

^^You are weary, Blanche, he said, as she threw herself 
down on the rustic seat of twisted cedar boughs, which cor- 
responded so perfectly with the sylvan beauty of the whole 
place. 

‘^Xo, indeed, I am not,’^ she answered, gayly. could 
play croquet all day.’"' 

“But you look flushed.^^ 

^‘That is because the morning is so warm.^' 

She laughed, and fanned herself with the brim of her 
straw croquet hat, and looked so bewitchingly pretty and 
blossom-like that Lord Vere Temple spoke out at once the 
words that had been trembling on his lips for so long. 

^^Blanche,^' he exclaimed passionately, love you! There 
now! I have startled you, my little shy fawn; but you must 
not look so enchantingly beautiful if you donT want a man 
to lose his senses in your presence. Dear Blanche,’^ he 
ad(l.ed, ^hs there anything terrible in the fact that I love 
you?"" 

She blushed vividly, but she did not seem by any means 
averse to the idea which had been so unceremoniously pre- 
sented to her mind. Perhaps he read the secret of her heart 
in her eyes, for he went on emboldened: 

may as well speak it out, dear little Blanche, for it has 


172 


THE WIDOWED BUIDE. 


filled my whole heart and soul for days and weeks past — the 
hope that you may one day become my wife. I know I am 
not half so good, and pure, and innocent as you are, dear- 
est, but I love you, and I will treasure you in my heart of 
hearts as fondly as if you were a queen. Tell me, dear one, 
will you be my wife?^^ 

^Tf I am worthy of you, Vere, yes.-’^ 

And as Lord Vere Temple pressed the kiss that sealed 
their betrothal upon her lips he felt, as many another young 
lover has felt at such a time as this — that Heaven had given 
him a greater treasure by far than he had deserved. 

His infatuation for Miss Percival had been a sort of brief 
madness — he had almost forgotten it now, and was quite 
ready to wonder at himself as much as any disinterested ob- 
server could wonder at him. Little Lady Blanche was safe 
upon the throne of her conquest — no power could shake the 
allegiance of her lover now. 

^^And I may tell mamrna?^^ she asked, looking with plead- 
ing happiness into the face of her tall wooer. 

^^Tell mamma, and tell everybody else, my darling. I 
donT care who knows it! I shall write to the earl this very 
evening to ask leave to bear away his little treasure; and, re- 
member, we are to be married this fall!'’^ 

^^So soonP she said, with a half- startled look. 

^^So soon! IsnT it nearly three long mortal months ofi? 
I am not a J acob, to serve seven years patiently. I must 
have you all to myself before we both grow old and wrin- 
kled!^*^ 

And Lady Blanche laughed merrily at the idea of impend- 
ing age and wrinkles. 

The Countess of Glenhampton received the tidings with 
evident gratification. 

^^My dear Vere,^^ she said, with the gentle graciousness 
which she could assume whenever she saw fit, and which 
was so becoming to her, shall receive you as a second son 
with real pleasure. I do not think my daughter could have 
chosen better; and it is so much better, in my opinion, for 
young people to settle early in lifel^^ 

So far the suit of Lord Vere Temple prospered brilliantly, 
and the Countess of Glenhampton so managed it that before 
sunset everyone in the castle was quite aware that Lord Vere 
Temple had proposed to Lady Blanche Arden and been ac- 
cepted. She wanted it to be a universally understood thing 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


173 


at once. Perhaps it was because she had still some linger- 
ing doubts concerning Rena PercivaFs fascinations, and tiie 
manner in which they might be employed. 

“She will never dare to flirt with my daughter's betrothed 
husband/^ she thought. 

But she did not know how essentially different her daugh- 
ter's friend had grown to be of late, or her hate might have 
softened into pity, bitter and unrelenting as it was. 

Lady Blanche was sitting with her mother in the little 
pink-and-gold reception room where Lady Glenhamptoii 
wrote her letters, kept her dainty workstand, and occasion- 
ally painted a little in water colors, so that her children had 
called it “mamma's work-room" when they were little. It 
was the first opportunity Blanche had found to be alone with 
her mother since the momentous event of the morning. 

At such a time as this it was natural enough that mother 
and daughter should have much to say to each other, and 
Blanche had scarcely begun the details of her happy confi- 
dences when a footman appeared in the open doorway. 

“Mr. Poynings' compliments, my lady, and would be 
obliged to you if you would see him for a few moments." 

“Not now, mamma," said Blanche, coaxingly. “I 
haven't fairly seen you all day, and I must have you now 
for a little while. Mr. Poynings can wait!" 

“As if it were likely that I should spare you just now, 
child," said Lady Glenhampton, letting her hand fall caress- 
ingly upon her daughter's hair. “Tell Mr. Poynings," she 
added, speaking to the servant, “that it is not convenient 
for me to see him at present; some other time will do." 

The man departed, and Blanche nestled up to her mother's 
side once more in undisturbed security. But it seemed 
scarcely an instant since the servant's departure when the 
sound of advancing footsteps broke in upon the thread of 
the young girl's innocent talk, and Mr. Poynings himself 
entered. 

Lady Glenhampton rose in stately surprise. 

“1 thought I had given orders to be denied to visitors!" 
she said, with a ring of hauteur in her tone. “Harper!" 
for the footman's troubled face appeared in the rear of this 
persistent guest, “did you understand what I said to you?" 

“Pray do not blame the man," said Mr. Poynings, with 
elaborate politeness. “He gave your ladyship’s message of 
denial quite correctly." 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


lf4 

^‘Then to what may I attribute the unexpected/^ — she 
hesitated the merest fraction of a second, and then went on 
— “pleasure of your society at this mornent?^^ 

“My business with your ladyship is important/^ said Mr. 
Poynings, “and^^ — he glanced about imperceptibly in the 
direction of Lady Blanche Arden — “and it is of a private 
nature.^^ 

“It must be important, to warrant your conduct, Mr. 
Poynings!’^ said Lady Glenhampton, haughtily. 

Lady Blanche, to whom the family lawyer had bowed low, 
rose to withdraw. 

“I will come in again, mamma, when you are at leisure, 
said she. “Good evening, Mr. Poynings 

As the soft rustling sound of her white dress died away 
in the corridors Lady Glenhampton rang the bell. 

“Lights,^' she said, briefly, to Harper, who responded to 
the summons, and presently the room flashed with brilliance. 
Mr. Poynings had stood quite silent, leaning against the edge 
of the mantel the while. 

“And now,^^ said Lady Glenhampton, when they were 
once more left to themselves, “will you be good enough to 
inform me what the business can be which renders you so 
indifferent to all etiquette or conventionality?^^ 

Lady Glenhampton was herself irritated beyond her usual 
wont, or she could not have failed to observe that there was 
something dangerous about the whole aspect and demeanor 
of the man who stood facing her. His face, never very full 
of color, was now almost of a gray pallor, and a smoldering 
light seemed to glow beneath his contracted brows, while 
the obliquity of vision which grew more noticeable under 
the influence of any strong emotion, was unusually promi- 
nent at this moment. 

“I have heard news. Lady Glenhampton,^^ he said, speak- 
ing smoothly. “I suppose we have all heard it, however 
true or false it may prove to be. It is a penalty paid inva- 
riably by the great — that they should have their affairs mer- 
cilesslv discussed by those who stand in a less exalted posi- 
tion. 

Something in his tone of voice made the countess look 
suddenly up and glance at him with more intentness than 
she had hitherto thought it worth while to employ. He 
was faultlessly dressed, and he looked very composed and 
gentlemanly, standing there in an attitude that was appar- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


175 


ently quite unstudied; but Lady Glenhampton perceived 
now that he was in no ordinary mood, and her pulse thrilled 
with an uncomfortably quick movement. 

^‘To what news do you allude, Mr. Poynings?^^ she asked, 
speaking more courteously than she had done before. 

‘^To what is doubtless a perfectly unfounded story — 
the rumor that Lady Blanche, your daughter, is engaged 
to Lord Vere Temple. 

^^You are mistaken in supposing it unfounded, said the 
countess, calmly. ‘‘Lady Blanche is engaged to Lord Vere 
Temple.” 

“With your consent?” asked Mr. Poynings, the grayish 
whiteness overspreading his face, as if some invisible paint- 
er’s brush had touched it. 

“With my full consent and approbation!” 

Mr. Poynings advanced a step or two toward his inter- 
locutor. 

“Then, Lady Glenhampton, you have played me cruelly 
false!” he said. 

“I! Played you false, Mr. Poynings! Will you tell me 
what you can possibly mean?” 

Lady Glenhampton rose with a stately dignity that might 
have quelled and overborne any one less resolute than Theo- 
dore Poynings, but he recoiled not a step. 

“Do you tell me. Lady Glenhampton, that you do not 
know that I have been steadily, and for all these years, 
aspiring to your daughter’s hand.” 

“You?” she echoed. 

“And why not I, Countess of Glenhampton? I am a 
gentleman, by breeding and education, if not by birth — I 
have means, and I have contrived to attain a position of 
which any lawyer in the three kingdoms might be 
proud ” 

“Through my intercession and endeavor,” coldly inter- 
posed the countess. 

“I am willing to confess that it was, partly, through your 
ladyship’s intercession and endeavor, for which I am not 
ungrateful. But, do you remember to what I owe your 
kind interest in my welfare?’’ 

She sat quite silent, looking straight at him. 

“I have endeavored to be your friend always,” she said, 
putting her hand up to her throat, as if the slender band of 


176 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


velvet, starred with diamonds, that she wore there, impeded 
her free breath, and loosening its clasp. 

“Yet you desert me in the very point I have most at 
heart. he said, in a tone strangely insolent — ^Hhe winning 
of your daughter to be my wifel^'’ 

^‘Mr. Poynings, you must know that such a thing as that 
is totally impossible,^' said Lady Glenhampton, her color 
rising, and her voice quivering with repressed indignation. 
^‘My daughter is the Lady Blanche Arden. 

^‘And 1 am nobody but plain Theodore Poynings. Your 
ladyship does not need to remind me of the fact/" said Mr. 
Poynings. “Yet, all this to the contrary notwithstanding, 
I intend to marry your daughter, and I am here to-night to 
insist upon your countenance and support to my suit."" 

“But she is already engaged to Lord Vere Temple."" 

“The engagement must be broken off I"' 

He spoke in a tone so arrogant and full of insolent self- 
assertion that Lady Glenhampton, who up to this time had 
seemed under die influence of, a spell which kept down her 
anger and contempt, could endure it no longer. 

“I think,"" said she, haughtily, “that you forget to 
whom you are speaking, Mr. Poynings. I have made your 
fortune; 1 have constituted you ^ protege oi my own; I have 
lifted you out of the obscurity of a mere attorney"s clerk 
into the best society of the neighborhood; but I will not 
thus be insulted by you. Will you leave my presence, or 
shall I be obliged to call a servant?"" 

“I will not leave your presence,"" Mr. Poynings answered, 
with cool audacity; “nor would I advise you, always speak- 
ing in your own interest, to ring the bell upon which your 
hand now rests. Lady Glenhampton, you and I both know 
that there are matters better kept within as contracted a 
circle as possible. If you will reflect a moment you will 
perceive how unadvisable it is to allow your temper to get 
the better of your discretion."" 

The Countess of Glenhampton bit her lip until the blood 
started. 

“Mr. Poynings,"" said she, “how much do you suppose I 
am going to. bear from you? I advise you to beware; there 
are limits to all human endurance."" 

^Tt is quite useless to beat around the bush any longer/" 
said Mr. Poynings, with folded arms and a smile that was 
nothing but a sneer. “We. ought to understand each other 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


177 


quite well by this time, Lady Glenhampton. I have on my 
part simply to say to you that I demand — yes demand, for 
you may as well comprehend my full meaning — that this 
engagement of Lady Blanche's to her aristocratic young ad- 
mirer be broken off at once, and my own claims to her hand 
be fully recognized/' 

“But the earl?^^ shuddered Lady Glenhampton. “He 
could never be induced to give his consent. 

“I am quite aware that your ladyship^s influence over him 
is not what it was,^^ said Mr. Poynings, still with the evil 
smile upon his face; “but you must do what you can, and I 
Avill risk tlie rest.^^ 

“The world — what will it say?^^ uttered Lady Glenhamp- 
ton, as if she were thinking aloud, rather than addressing 
herself to a crafty lawyer. 

“The world — the world!'^ contemptuously echoed Mr. 
Poynings. “You and I, my lady countess, know that same 
world well enough to comprehend that it is our mere tool, 
if it is handled rightly, I have no fears as far as the world 
is concerned I’^ 

“Man! do you know what you are asking of me?’^ broke 
from Lady Glenhampton^s pale lips, as she wrung her hands 
until the diamonds on her slender fingers seemed to emit 
shattered rainbows of quivering fire. “1 have given to you 
money, help, influence — all that you have asked, without 
stint — but my beautiful, joyous-hearted child — a fiend in- 
carnate could not ask me to give up her young happiness, 
and blight the life that has just begun. Ask what you 
please that is mine to give, but spare her.^^ 

The wild entreaty of the mothers voice might have 
melted a heart of stone. Poynings stood unmoved, how- 
ever. 

“You talk as if I were the wicked giant in a fairy tale,^^ 
said he sullenly. “What is there so outrageous in the idea 
of my wanting a titled wife? I shall make a good husband to 
the girl. Why, I would be willing to wager a good round 
sum that I love her quite as well as that young fop, Vere 
Temple, although it never was my way to go into ecstasies 
about anything 

“Stop!"'^ said Lady Glenhampton, in a choked, breath- 
less tone, as she lifted her forefinger with a warning gesture, 
“you are going too far, Mr. Poynings. I have endured 
much from you, but 1 shall not endure this."^^ 


178 


THE WIDOWED BIUDE, 


^‘But I say you shall said Mr. Poynings, a sudden flash 
of rage beginning to coruscate from beneath his eyelashes. 

have taken a fancy to marry Lady Blanche Arden — her 
soft, pretty face pleases my eye, and her rank and title 
please the common-sense part of me — and you shall give 
her to me, or and he hissed out the rest of the sen- 

tence in slow syllables, watching greedily for their effect. 

throw away the scabbard, and there shall be war to the 
knife between us — yes. Countess of Glenhampton, war to 
the knife!’^ 

She sank back in the chair from which she had momen- 
tarily risen, pale and shuddering. 

^‘You will give her to me?” demanded Poynings, after a 
moment or two of silence, during which he never lifted his 
glittering eyes fro pi her face, 
will not!” 

At this instant Blanche ran into the room, her face radi- 
ant with innocent gayety. 

^ Mamma,” she cried, “I want — but oh, mamma what is 
the matter ? Are you ill?” 

^*No, not ill!” gasped Lady Glenhamptcn, the smile for 
which she strove burning into a mere galvanic contortion 
of the lips. ^‘Go away, Blanche; leave me for a little 
v/hile!” 

*"Pray do not leave us on my account. Lady Blanche,” 
said Mr. Poynings, smoothly. ‘^Perhaps you can decide 
this matter which seems too difficult for your mother to 
settle!” 

Lady Glenhampton sprang up, with blazing eyes and a 
face totally blanched of every vestige of color. 

^^How dare you speak so to this innocent girl?” she cried, 
her voice sounding strangely stifled and shrill. ‘"How dare 
you thus defy me?” 

""It is you who are defying me!” he retorted, cowed some- 
what by her manner, yet insolent still. ""Lady Glenhamp- 
ton, you know encugh of my character to understand what 
my revenge can be, if I am driven to it. And 1 swear to 
you that I will be revenged.” 

Lady Blanche stood pale and silent, looking from one to 
the other of the speakers, with eyes dilated and a wondering 
intentness of gaze. 

"‘Mamma,” she cried, grasping her mother^s hand, ""what 


2 He widowed bride. 179 

does he mean? Why do you look so frightened. Shall I 
call Vere?^^ 

Lady Glenhamptoii mutely shook her head. Mr. Poyn- 
ings lauglied. 

•4 would advise you to be very careful how you summon 
a council of friends. Lady Blanche/^ he said, superciliously. 
‘•Family affairs are best kept quiet — eh, my Lady Gleii- 
hampton 

“Leave me, if you please, sir,^' she said, summoning 
some remnant of her former dignity. “I cannot endure 
any longer conversation to-night.'’^ 

'He hesitated, but apparently judged it better to concede 
a little. 

“Shall I wait on your ladyship to-morrow?’^ he asked, ob- 
sequiously. 

“Yes.^^ 

She paused so long before she spoke the monosyllable that 
he had his lips open to speak again. 

“At what hour?^’ 

“I don^t know, I don^t care; only leave me,^^ she answered, 
in a sort of helpless despair. 

“Shall we say five o’clock?^’ he persisted. 

“Yes.^^ 

He doubted even then whether she understood the mean- 
ing of his question, but there was something in her manner 
that warned him not to press matters too far, and with a 
low bow to Lady Blanche, and a few words of adieu to the 
countess, who did not seem to hear him, he departed. 
Blanche went up to her mother the moment the spell of his 
odious presence was withdrawn and put her arms lovingly 
about her. 

“Mamma, what does it all mean?^^ she asked. “What 
makes him speak to you so impertinently? Why don^t you 
have him turned out of the house?"' 

Lady Glenhampton tried to smile. 

“It is only his presuming way, my love,"" she said. “Do 
not let us talk any more about it just now. I suppose 
something must be done to check it, but — but there is time 
enough. What was it you were going to ask me?"" 

“I brought you a letter, mamma — the postman sent a 
special messenger with it just now; he says it was somehow 
overlooked in the mails, and must have been detained over 
a week on the way. He hopes it isn"t of much importance, 


180 


THE WIDOWED BUIDE. 


and is terribly cast down and apologetic about it. I sup- 
pose I ought to have scolded him, but 1 only told him to be 
sure it never occurred again. 

Lady Glenhampton took the letter mechanically from her 
daughter's hand and broke the seal, glancing over its con- 
tents in a dreamy, absent way, which instantly changed to 
breathless surprise and dismay. 

^^What is it, mamma cried Blanche, who was watching 
her mother^s face. ^‘Tell me, mamma, is papa ill?^’ 

^^ISTo,^^ Lady Glenhampton wailed; ^dt is from Ernest, 
my only boy — the one in whom all my hopes were bound up 
— to tell me that he is married.'’^ 


THE WIDOWED BHIDE, 


181 


CHAPTEE XXV. 

CAPTAI]sr EVELYK^S EATE. 

Our story returns once more to Alice Percival, to whom 
the great mystery of every woman^s existence was being 
gradually unfolded. 

^‘My dear/'’ said the Eeverend Mr. Eskett to his wife, one 

afternoon, as she sat sewing in the porch — ^^my dear 

‘‘Welir 

Mrs. Eskett looked up briskly as she bit olf the end of her 
thread. 

^‘Theresa, doiPt you think Captain Evelyn admires our 
little governess very much?'’^ 

^'Of course he does,^^ said Mrs. Eskett, laughing; ^dt 
would not require any very marvelous amount of percep- 
tion to see that. All I can say, is that I admire his taste; 
she is the prettiest little creature I ever saw.^^ 

^‘Do you think there is any danger of his falling in love 
with her?’^ asked Mr. Eskett, seriously. 

“My dear Ealph! as if he were not in love already! iPs 
past praying for.'’^ 

“Then,^^ said the rector, beginning to walk up and down 
the porch uneasily, “he must go away from here at once.^’ 

“What for?’^ questioned Mrs. Eskett, in surprise. 

“DoiPt you see yourself, Theresa? Lady Glenhampton’s 
son canT marry our governess. 

“But why not, I should like to know, if he loves her, 
and she returns his feeling 

“'My dear, the idea is simply preposterous. She is of 
obscure origin, without a penny of fortune, and totally 
unaccustomed to the ways of the great world. 

“But she is beautiful as an angel and good as a saint!^^ 
cried Mrs. Eskett, enthusiastically. “Ealph, Ealph! I did 
not think you could be so worldly !^^ 

“It is not I that am worldly, my love; if he were a son of 
my own I could wish no better or sweeter wife for him than 
this Miss Perciva//^ answered the rector of Tregarvan. 
“But I know enough of the Countess of Clenhampton’s 
ambitious and scheming nature to be quite certain that she 
would never sanction such an affair as this.^’ 


182 


THJi WIDOWED BHIDE. 


^‘But Ernest Evelyn is his own master/^ 

‘‘Literally speaking, I suppose he is; but I have always 
heard he has not a penny beyond his pay in the Dra- 

goons, and what the generosity of the Earl of Glenhampton 
allows him. To marry this girl would be pecuniary ruin, 
to say nothing of the risk he would run of mortally offend- 
ing both his mother and his step-fatlier.^^ 

“I am tired of hearing love and marriage discussed as if 
they were a mere matter of bargain and saleT^ cried Mrs. 
Eskett, with crimsoned cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Are 
people to be allowed no independence of action? Yon, 
Ralph, who are a minister of the gospel, should be the last 
person to lend your countenance to a system which grinds 
down all the better and holier instincts of our nature.^^ 

“My dear,^^ said patient Mr. Eskett, “I have asserted 
once that I am not now expressing my own opinions, but 
merely acting as the guardian of other^s interests. While 
Captain Evelyn is a guest at Tregarvan Rectory, I am, to a 
certain extent, morally responsible for him to the countess, 
his mother.^’ 

“And what course do you intend to pursue, Ralph ?^’ she 
asked. 

“Why, I suppose I ought to tell Ernest frankly that he 
had better pack up his traps and take himself off before lie 
gets any deeper into the slough of despond that these crazy 
young people call ‘love!^ 

“Will he take it pleasantly ?^^ 

“He ought to take it exactly in the spirit in which it is 
meant. If he doesn’t I cannot help it!’’ answered the rec- 
tor, with a quiet decision in his tone, which Mrs. Eskett 
always respected, although it seldom appeared. “I sup- 
pose I had better go to him at once. Do you know where 
he is?” 

“He has taken Alice out for a drive to Cherwyllyn’s Point. 
Poor young things — let them have one day more of happi- 
ness. Don’t speak to him until to-morrow morning.” 

“It is my duty to speak at once, Theresa,” said the good 
rector, gravely. “And the children?” 

“They are off in the woods gathering berries with old 
Margery. I told them they might have a holiday for once.” 

Mrs. Eskett’s eyes fell, and her lips broke into a mis- 
chievous yet self-condemning smile as her husband looked 
steadily at her. But the expected lecture for “aiding and 


THE WIDOWED BIUDE 


183 


abettin^^^ the growth of love between Captain Evelyn and 
Alice Percival did not come. All he said was: 

‘‘It is high time he left Tregarvan Eectory.^^ 

The rector would have thought so in good earnest, could 
he have made an invisible third in the jolting little vehicle 
which was at that moment rolling cozily along a steep moun- 
tain road which led in a series of circuitous windings toward 
the grand cliff called “Cherwyllyn Point, and heard the 
words Captain Ernest Evelyn was even then speaking to his 
beautiful companion. 

“Alice, you must surely have seen it long ago/^ he ex- 
claimed, vehemently. “I am not a man of snow or marble, 
to conceal my feelings. 

“I suspected it —once in a long time,^^ she answered, 
shyly, with her eyes fixed intently on the green summer 
landscape gliding slowly past them. 

“And you have not answered me yet. My precious one, 
donT keep me in suspense. Tell me frankly, for it is not in 
your nature to be anything but frank, do you return my 
love?^" 

Oh, Captain Evelyn! Captain Evelyn! is this the boasted 
constancy of a man^s heart? Scarcely a month has elapsed 
since you poured out your vows on the shrine of the relent- 
less Kena. It is well for the girls of the nineteenth century 
that they cannot read all the revelations of their lovers’ past! 
Yet, after all, a heart caught in the rebound is oftentimes a 
heart well worth having. 

And Alice, unused to the coquettish wiles common to her 
sex upon similar occasions, looked into his face with limpid, 
violet eyes, and answered: 

“How can I help it, Ernest, when you are so good, so 
noble, so worthy of all a woman’s love?” 

He pressed her hand tenderly in his; it was surprising how 
easy a thing it was to drive with one hand, particularly 
when the gray pony knew the way by heart, and trotted 
along in a sage, sober sort of way, as if he were quite willing^e 
to take the entire responsibility of the whole route upon his 
own shoulders, and leave the young people behind him to 
enjoy themselves after their own fashion. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Eskett. when Miss Percival came in 
that evening, “have you had a pleasant ride, my love?” 

“ Very pleasant,” Alice answered. 

And Mrs. Eskett, in the kindness of her heart, could have 


184 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE 


cried to think how soon her bright dream was to be rudely 
broken in upon. 

Meanwhile the rector had joined Captain Evelyn as he 
smoked his cigar in the yew trees in the garden. 

^^My dear fellow/^ said he^ somewhat abruptly, ^^do you 
know where you are going?^^ 

^‘Well— yes,’^ said Ernest, reflectively. went to Cher- 
wyllyn Point to-day — to-morrow I shall drive over to Cress- 
]yn. There^s an old church there that the antiquarians tell 
me is exceedingly well worth seeing.'’’ 

^ "Alone!” 

""Am I the sort of "melancholy Jaques’ that prefers soli- 
tude and his own society? Of course not, sir. Miss Perci- 
val has kindly consented to accompany me.” 

""My boy,” said the rector, gravely, ‘"you are not going to 
Cresslyn Church, but straight to your own discomfiture and 
ruin!” 

‘"I don’t understand you, sir.” 

""Yes you do, Ernest. This sort of thing has got to come 
to an end at once. She is sweet and womanly, and gentle 
as any girl living — but you know what your mother’s ideas 
upon the subject are, my poor fellow!” 

The last three words were wrung from him by the expres- 
sion on Ernest Evelyn’s face. 

""My mother!” repeated the young man, impatiently. The 
rector lifted a warning finger, and he added: ""My mother 
is my mother, I know — but she does not own me soul and 
body. There are some things which a man must decide for 
himself.” 

‘"But not without counsel and due deliberation,” said the 
rector, gravely. ""Ernest, I know enough of your peculiar 
circumstances to be convinced that you are at this moment 
putting yourself into great peril, nor would I willingly be 
blamed for my share, however unconscious, of the business. 
You must go away from here at once.” 

""So you are going to turn me out of doors, Mr. Eskett?” 
said Captain Ernest, relighting the cigar which he had 
allowed to go out in the absorbing interest of the discussion. 

""I don’t want to seem inhospitable, Ernest, but what can 
Ido?” 

""You are giving me credit for self-control and resolu- 
tion.” 

""My dear boy,” said the rector, with a whimsical uplift- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


185 


ing of the brows, give you credit for all that is good 
and noble, but I have been in love myself, and I know just 
what resolution and self-control are worth at such a time as 
this?^^ 

^‘But I came down to Tregarvan Kectory to spend the 
summer. You will at least give me the same notice to leave 
that you would accord to your groom or gardener— a 
month 

^‘Not l\” said the rector, determinedly. month! 

Why you would be a married man at the end of that 
timer 

^‘You are taking a good deal for granted, sir.^^ 

^^Of course I am! A month, indeed!’^ 

‘^A week, then. Gome, Mr. Eskett, you wouldn^'t turn 
a visitor out of your house on less than a week^s notice?’^ 

^'You^ll see whether I shall or not!"'' the rector answered, 
composedly. 

^^But I have promised to take Miss Percival to Cresslyn 
to-morrow!’" 

^‘1 can"t be responsible, that I know of, for all your rash 
promises, young man!"" said the relentless Mr. Eskett. 

can"t forfeit my word, and I won"t!"" said Captain Eve- 
lyn, puffing energetically away at his cigar. ‘^If this is the 
savage way in which you"re going to treat me, I"ll hire 
Ehyil Penzance, and settle down here for the summer. You 
can"t very well prevent that!"" 

Ehyil Penzance was a romantic little shooting lodge some 
mile-and-a-half from the rectory of Tregarvan, which hap- 
pened to be ^To let"" at that time, and the good rector"s ap- 
prehensions were roused at once. He knew enough of the 
willfulness of Captain Evelyn's character to be certain that 
he was quite capable of carrying his threat into immediate 
execution if he were opposed too far. 

^‘^Day after to-morrow, then,"" said he, hesitatingly; ^^vill 
that suit you?"" 

suppose so,"" grumbled Ernest. ^‘Pretty hospitality 

this !"" 

‘Tt’s your own fault,"’ said the rector, laughing. ^^Come, 
Evelyn — own up that it is.”" 

^H"ll own up to nothing,"" said Captain Evelyn, unable to 
repress a smile. ‘‘1 mean to follow the example of fashion- 
able tourists and write a book about Wales, and I"ll be espe- 
cially careful to state that all the rectors in Wales are in the 


186 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


habit of turning guests out of their houses on two days^ 
notice, after inveigling them down with the politest of 
promises/^ 

“I don't care how’ many books you write,^^ said the 
rector, ^‘as long as you get safely away from Tregarvan/^ 
And he went into the house quite relieved to think that 
the uncomfortable conversation was over, and inwardly de- 
lighted that Captain Evelyn had made ‘^so little fuss about 
itr 

really don't think he cares so very much about her, 
after all," thought Mr. Eskett. 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


187 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

MAKEIED. 

Alice Percival looked very lovely in her white dress and 
blue-ribboned hat, as they drove along the wild and secluderl 
road leading to Cresslyn Church, the next day, Ernest 
thought she had never been half so beautiful, and the deter- 
mination to call her his own waxed stronger in his heart 
with every moment. 

^^What makes you so silent, Ernest she ventured to 
ask, after one or two wistful glances at his absorbed face, 
when they had left Tregarvan Rectory behind them by a 
mile or two. 

was thinking how best to tell you what I have to im- 
part this morning,'’^ he said, his grave lips softening into a 
smile. 

She grew a little pale. 

^Hs it bad news, Ernest 

donT regard it in that light, myself, he answered. 

^‘Then I am not afraid to hear it.'^ 

^'Shall I speak on?^^ he asked, and she replied: 

‘^Yes.^^ 

‘'Well, then, it is this, Alice — we must be married this 
morning 

“Ernest 

“I knew you would be surprised, my little one, but since 
you have promised to give yourself to me, what difference 
can it be whether it is a few days sooner or later. You are 
willing to trust me, Alice 

“Yes — oh yes, Ernest, but — it is so sudden! I have not 
written to Rena — I have not told Mrs. Eskett, who has been 
so very, very kind to me 

“All that can be done afterward, my dearest; but circum- 
stances have occurred which renders my stay at Tregarvan 
exceedingly uncertain, and I must make sure of my precious 
prize at once. Listen, my darling. You, who have lived 
in seclusion all your days, can form no idea of the plots, 
and plans, and schemes which form part of the real world. 
1 am simple Ernest Evelyn, a captain in the — th Dragoons, 
with nothing but my pay to live on, and my mother, who is 


188 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


one of the most ambitious women in England, is determined 
that I shall secure wealth and ease by marrying some heir- 
ess or other/^ 

Alice had grown pale. 

‘"But, Ernest, not if you did not love her?^^ 

“Love!^’ he echoed, with a bitter laugh. “My Alice, love 
enters but little into the calculations of the world. No — if 
I go back to Glenhampton, I shall be drawn into the vortex 
which it is impossible to resist. It rests with yon, my 
guardian angel, to save me from a life which I shudder to 
contemplate! Will you turn from my pleading?^^ 

She involuntarily nestled nearer to him. 

“How can I save you, Ernest 

“By becoming my wife at once. Alice, you will consent? 
Once indissolubly bound to each other, no earthly power 
can avail to sever our united futures; we shall have nothing 
to fear.^^ 

She looked into his face, and placed her hand trustingly 
in his. 

“It shall be as you wish, dear Ernest. 

“My own darling, you can never know from what you 
have saved me,^^ he murmured, almost inaudibly. 

And they were married under the hoary, echoing arches 
of Cresslyn Church by a sleepy-looking young curate who, 
probably, supposed them to be one of the many runaway 
English couples who sought the outskirts of the sister king- 
doms, to consummate their unions, sometimes from sheer 
love of the romance of the thing sometimes from deeper and 
more substantial motives. 

The noonday sunshine touched the beautiful young bride^s 
hair with lustrous gleams of gold, as she came out of the 
church porch, leaning on the arm of her newly made hus- 
band, and his heart thrilled high with exultant pride and 
love. 

“My Alice/"" he whispered, bowing his head to her, “you 
do not regret the step you have taken 

“Regret it!^^ 

She echoed the words with such soft, incredulous tender- 
ness that it gave a new happiness to this moment of bliss. 

“And Heaven helping me, you never shall he added. 

Ernest Evelyn had been a trifler all his life, but his 
character was developing now, in the elevating influence 
of this new, genuine love, as a flower grows in the showers 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


189 


and sunshine of a spring day. Alice Percival was the 
sweet, ennobling spirit that drew him nearer to his own bet- 
ter self. 

As the afternoon drew toward sunset, and the sunset 
softened into early twilight, and the sight-seers did not 
return, Mrs. Eskett began to grow a little uneasy. 

^‘Surely they ought to be at home by this time,’^ she saif^, 
for the twentieth time at least, do hope nothing has 
happened/^ 

‘^Why, what should have happened, my dear?” said the 
rector. ^‘Don^t fret — don^t fret, they^ll be home in time.” 

^^But it is eight o^clock.” 

^^When it is nine Til begin to worry too,” laughed the 
rector. ‘^Let the poor fellow enjoy this one day — as you 
said yesterday — it is his last.” 

^^And I am heartily glad of it,” said Mrs. Eskett, who in 
spite of the interest she felt in this apparently blighted love 
aifair was very nearly out of temper. ^‘What is it that you 
want, rny good man?” for at that moment a gray-haired old 
man stood in the door-way, making his best bow over and 
over again with unceasing persistency, and trying to extract 
from the cover of his hat something which had apparently 
got wedged in there. 

^^Please, ma^am, I be come all the way from Cresslyn to 
see Muster Eskett, him as is the rector here. The young 
gentleman gived me a letter as was to be guv in his own 
hands?” 

‘T am Mr. Eskett,” said the rector taking the letter 
which the stranger had brought. 

Mrs. Eskett summoned the man of all work to take the 
messenger into the kitchen and give him a glass of home- 
brewed ale after his walk, and then went back to her hus- 
band^s study. 

‘^Kalph, what is the matter? Any news from ” 

^‘Yes,” said the rector, quietly folding the letter, and 
placing it once more in the greasy envelope. ‘‘They are 
married.” 

“Married!” echoed Mrs. Eskett, her breath fairly taken 
away by the suddenness of the tidings. “What ! Captain 
Evelyn and Alice?” 

“Yes — at Cresslyn Church this morning,” said Mr. Eskett, 
who, although he was in the habit of getting sorely per- 
plexed and befogged about the trivial occurrences of life. 


190 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


never lost his presence of mind in great emergencies. 
^‘They will be back here to claim our hospitality, he 
writes, in three days. AVhere did I put my pen, my 
dear?^^ 

‘"What are you going to do?^^ asked Mrs. Eskett. 

am going to telegraph at once to the Earl of Glen- 
hampton."^^ 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


191 


CHAPTER XXVIL 

ELISOK POLWHEAL^S DEATH-BED. 

For the last few years Adelbert, Earl of Glenhampton, 
had led a wandering* and uncertain life, spending but little 
of his time in his own native land. The great grief of his 
youth seemed to grow heavier and more poignant as the 
years crept on, instead of yielding to the influence of the 
great enchanter Time — and there were periods when his 
friends almost feared for the preservation of his reason — 
periods of sharp, spasmodic grief, when the past seemed to 
become once more present, and the buried ghosts of the de- 
parted anguish rose up from their sepulcher, and seemed to 
confront him face to face. 

He had been spending some months in Paris, where the 
air seemed to agree with his broken health, and the society 
of a few choice friends served to keep him from too much 
companionship with his own meditations, and it was there 
that Mr. EsketPs telegram reached him. 

It was short and succinct: 

“Come to me at once if you are alive and capable of traveling. For 
Heaven’s sake, do not delay ! R. Eskett, 

“Tregarvan Rectory, Cardigonshire, Wales.” 

Lord Glenhampton read the dispatch two or three times 
over, as men will read such things, as if a second or third 
perusal could extract a hidden meaning unpreceived in the 
first glance. 

‘G wonder what has happened he thought. ^Gt cannot 

possibly be that old Elison , but, nonsense! she must be 

dead and buried long ago! Nevertheless I will go — if Eskett 
is ill or in any trouble, I should be the man of all others to 
be by his side!'' 

And so Lord Glenhampton^s valet was surprised by orders 
to pack a portmanteau at once for the evening train. 

‘G am going to England,'^ was all the explanation he 
vouchsafed to give. 

The night in which they crossed the channel was dark 
and tempestuous, and as Lord Glenhampton stood on deck, 
wrapped in his dark coat-cloak his thoughts traveled afar 
off into the certainties of the past, and the vague possibili- 
ties of the future. 


192 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


have felt strangely drawn toward England of late/^ he 
pondered to himself. ‘‘Were I a more stanch believer in 
signs and omens, I should believe it to be the mysterious 
beckoning of some unknown hand; but I believe I have 
passed the period of superstition. Had anything occurred 
to render my presence at Glenhampton necessary, Edith 
would have sent for me. I almost wish Eskett had been a 
little more circumstantial in his telegram.'’^ 

Even in a railway-girded land delays are sometimes inevi- 
table, and it was not until the fifth day after the rector of 
Tregarvan had sent his telegraphic message that the Earl of 
Glenliampton descended from the car which had brought 
him from the railway station at the honeysuckle-canopied 
wicket-gate of the garden in which stood the rectory. 

Through the open study window the earl could catch a 
glimpse of his friend’s bald head, bending over his papers 
as absorbedly as if there were no outside world of bloom 
and light and fragrance. 

The click of the garden gate latch roused the rector from 
his studious trance. He sprang up, and in another moment 
had the earl by both hands in a delighted grasp, and led 
him into the quiet little rectory parlor. 

“You telegraphed to me?’’ said Lord Glenhampton, seating 
himself. 

“Yes — I — I telegraphed to you!” said the rector, rubbing 
his nose in evident embarrassment. “I had something to 
tell you — something I thought, at the time, you could break 
to Lady Glenhampton better than any one else. But I was, 
perhaps, a little premature — it seems he has written to her.” 

“He! Whom do you mean!” demanded the puzzled earl. 

“Why, Ernest — Ernest Evelyn. He is married.” 

“Indeed! and to whom?” asked the earl, not by any 
means with the astonishment that Mr. Eskett had expected 
to see. 

The rector was just opening his lips to reply, when the 
door opened and a slender figure glided in, leading little 
Phebe by the hand — the figure of the bride of less than a 
week, her bright hair hanging round her face in shining 
gold-brown tresses, her violet-blue eyes sparkling with inno- 
cent happiness, and her cheeks glowing like the roses that 
swung athwart the casement at every breeze. 

For an instant Lord Glenhampton sat pale and rigid as if 
he had been turned into a statue of ice, and then he rose up. 


tme widowed duide. 103 

holding to the arm of the chair for support, and gasping for 
breath. 

^^Child, who are you?^^ he exclaimed, his gaze fixed upon 
her as if she had been an apparition from another world. 

Alice stood mute and startled. The rector hurried to hig 
friend^s side. 

^‘Glenhampton, what is it?^^ he asked, eagerly. ^^Areyou 

is Allegra, my wifeP broke in faltering accents from 
the earl^s pale lips — ^^my dead wife! my lost treasure! smil- 
ing up into my face as she smiled twenty years ago! Eskett! 
Eskett! donT you see her very face?^^ 

^‘You forget, old friend, that I never saw the first Lady 
Glenhampton,^^ said the rector of Tregarvan, soothingly. 

^^Shall I go away, Mr. Eskett,^^ asked Alice, half-terrified; 
and at the sound of her voice a shudder thrilled through 
Lord Glenhampton^s whole frame. 

‘^Tell me, I say, who you are?^’ he exclaimed, looking at 
her as if he expected that the next moment she would vanish 
into thin air. 

am Alice, she answered, softly. 

^^Alice? Alice who?^^ 

^^Alice Evelyn, she made reply, with a blushing hesita- 
tion to speak her new name. 

he cried, vehemently; ^^you are 7iot Alice Evelyn 
— you are little Allegra, who died eighteen years ago, the 
little Allegra who had her mother^s eyes and her mother^s 
voice. 

^^My dear friend,^^ interposed the startled rector, do 
not think you know what you are saying. Travel and loss 
of sleep have worn you out. Let me take you to your room, 
where you can rest a little. 

But the Earl of Glenhampton disregarded his imploring 
appeal. 

‘^Can a man refuse to believe the evidences of his own 
senses he asked, scornfully impatient of contradiction. 

^^But, Glenhampton, if she be, as you say, and as we all 
know, dead 

^^She is not dead!’"^ impatiently interrupted the earl, who 
seemed to be under the influence of some overweening con- 
viction which had taken possession of him, soul, brain, and 
heart. ^‘Do I not tell you that she stands here, living and 
breathing, before me?"' 


194 


TME WIDOWED BHIDE. 


^‘She lies buried at Glenhampton/' soothingly interposed 
the rector. 

At this juncture the opposite door was opened, and the 
servant looked apprehensively in. 

^‘I beg your par ding for a interrupting of you, Mr. Es- 
kett, but Hester Jones has just come down from that old 
woman Polwheahs; and, please sir, they don^t think as she 
can last much longer. It"s her own belief as she^s goin' out 
with the tide, sir, at sunset; and Hester thinks she hadn^t 
ought to be left to die withouten so much as a prayer said 
over her.^^ 

^‘Is it Elison Polwheal?^' asked Lord Glenhampton, turn- 
ing to the rector. Mr. Eskett nodded assent. 

^‘The finger of Providence is in this thing, said the earl 
in a low, tremulous voice. ‘^We will both go to Elison 
Polwheal. If there is a key to this mystery she possesses it, 
and she alone. Allegra, my little Allegra, you will come 
with us?’^ 

He took her hand as he spoke and drew her toward him. 
The tenderly spoken name sounded strangely sweet in her 
ears, bewildered though they were by the strange occur- 
rences of the moment. 

‘^Yes/^ she answered, although her heart beat a pulse or 
two more rapidly than usual, and she could not help wishing 
that Ernest had returned from his trout-fishing expedition 
among the hills, for her to lean upon his counsel and advice, 
will go with you, sir.^^ 

^‘Is it far?^^ Lord Glenhampton asked of the rector. 

^ ^Several miles, but the little wagon is at the door. I was 
going to the village this afternoon. 

The cottage, or rather hut, where old Elison Polwheal lay 
dying was a rude structure of mud and stone, with a steep 
thatched roof and an immense stone chimney, into which 
the swallows darted ever and anon, seeming to lose them- 
selves in its yawning depths. 

Hester Jones, that old woman^s granddaughter, who had 
come across the fields by a short cut, had reached the cot- 
tage before them, and now stood courtesying in the door- 
way. 

“She’s a bit better, gentlemen,” she said, as she made way 
for them to enter, “but it’s the death-stroke is on her. 
Please to sit down, gentlemen, and Mrs. Evelyn; it’s a mor- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


195 


tal poor place for the likes of you, but it^s clean as soap and 
sand can make it/^ 

Upon a low wooden bedstead, opposite the door, and di- 
rectly beneath a slit-like window, lay a very aged woman, 
propped up by pillows, and with her yellow hands crossed on 
the outside of the coverlid. Her face was as sunken and 
rigid as that of a corpse, and the nose and chin nearly met. 
The light blue eyes, plainly visible through the half-closed 
lids, shone with a strange, glassy luster, and the disheveled 
gray hair lay loose over the pillow, like the wild tresses of a 
pictured Fury. 

^T can't keep a cap on her head, do what I will,^^ apolo- 
gized Hester, trying to smooth the stray looks; ‘^soFve just 
giv^ up a-tryin\ Granny, granny, the rectoFs come all the 
way from Tregarvan to see you,” she added, raising her voice 
to a high-pitched scream. 

Mr. Eskett advanced to the bedside, saying solemnly: 

^^Peace be to this house, and all that dwell in it.” 

Lord Glenhampton leaned silently against the wall, and 
Alice stood by the door, marveling at the strange scene in 
which she found herself, and half-terrified, in spite of her 
resolution to be brave. 

Old Elison^s drawn face stirred with some dim perception 
of what was passing around her. 

^^He^s very kind, and Pm thankful to him, lass,” she an- 
swered, in a shrill, piping voice; ^^but there ain^t nothing 
he can do for me. It’s all at ween me and my Maker now.” 

‘"Tell her who is here, Hester,” said Mr. Eskett, with a 
motion of his hand toward Lord Glenhampton. 

“Granny!” shrieked Hester again, “there’s a grand gen- 
tleman come with him from furrin parts — the Earl of Glen- 
hampton,” and Hester unconsciously courtesied as she uttered 
the august name. 

Elison Polwheal opened her eyes wide and strove to lift 
her head from the pillows. 

“Earl of Glenhampton?” she repeated. “Who is it that’s 
talkin’ about the Earl of Glenhampton? I knew his lord- 
ship once, but that was years ago.” 

“He’s here now, granny!” cried Hester. 

And at the same moment the earl advanced to where she 
could see his face. 

For an instant she stared fixedly at him, as if to be certain 
that it was really he whom she beheld. 


196 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


^^And what brings ye here. Lord Adelbert Glenhampton?^^ 
she asked, speaking slowly and in hollow tones. ^‘Are ye 
come to hold back my spirit from the other world ? I knew 
it would be so— I knew you would come and stand at my 
bedside when the call came — for all these weary days and 
nights my soul has gone out into the great gulf of darkness 
seeking yours. I could not die with the black secret on my 
soull^' she added, shuddering. ^G’ve been a true and a leal 
servant to Lady Edith all these years. I could live on and 
hold my tongue for her sake were it a hundred years more, 
but I could not die with a lie on my lips.^' 

^^Shall I tell you what the secret is, Elison Polwheal?^^ 
asked Lord Glenhampton, his deep tones searching her 
dulled senses with distinct accents. 

^^You do not know it! You never knew it!^^ she uttered, 
vehemently. swore with my hand on the Bible never to 
tell it.^^ 

^^jN'evertheless I know it!^’ he answered. ^^My little babes 
were not drowned in the Medway — it is not they who lie 
confined in the mausoleum at Glenhampton.'^^ 

^^Who has told you this?^^ she gasped. 

He beckoned to Alice to approach. She advanced, with 
a look of awe upon her lovely young face, and bent her 
eyes seriously on Elison Polwheaks ghastly face. 

^^One of them stands before you now,^^ said Lord Glen- 
hampton. ^‘I knew her when I saw her, from her wonder- 
ful likeness to her buried mother. 

^^And it is to me that she owes her life,^^ said Elison, her 
restless fingers working ceaselessly at the coverlid on which 
they lay. ‘^Let them go away. Lord Glenhampton, and I 
will tell you all — the Lord be praised that my guilty con- 
science can be lightened of its load, even though it be at the 
eleventh hour!^^ 

Mr. Eskett motioned Hester Jones and Alice Evelyn to 
withdraw, himself remaining by the window beyond Elison's 
vision, at a signal from the earl — and the dying woman 
commenced her story of treachery and wrong, in a tone that 
had grown low and hoarse: 

^Gt was all planned, my lord, before you went with her 
to Italy. Ever since there was the likelihood of a child 
bein^ born to her she grudged the little things the ground 
they trod on, the clothes they wore, the very air they 
breathed — it was all somethin^ taken away from her own 


THE WIDOWED BBIDR 


197 


child — and she used to sit at her window, with her chin 
leanin^ on her hand, and her eyes fixed on them little ones, 
as if she could ha^ murdered them and thought it no wrong. 
For even the wild beasts, my lord, they have an instinct for 
their own young, and there was always a streak of the 
tigress in Lady Edith s hot Indian blood. We never said 
much about it in words, my lord, but I understood \^hat she 
wanted, and I promised her it should be done — that when 
she came back from foreign parts they should not stand in 
her way.” 

Woman gasped Lord Glenhampton, ^^you did not 
dream of — murder!’^ 

^‘1 must tell my tale in my own way,'^ crooned Elison, 
irritably. ^^Murder! Why, we that had lived in India 
thought no more of such things than of killing a troublesome 
insect who had stung us. Human life isn^t the same thing 
there that it is here. Where was I? — yes, I remember now. 
She went away — but my heart somehow failed me. I did 
not let the little innocents find their death in the river that 
ran at the foot of the fields. There was a gardener at the 
place, who was a poor feeble thing — he was going to the 
south of France with a colony, to work in the vineyards — 
and when they all thought the babes was dead in the river 
bottom, they was miles away in Jason Garfield’s care. I 
paid him well for it — I could afford to do it, for my lady 
had been as generous as a queen 

^'But the corpses that were buried?’^ eagerly broke in Mr. 
Eskett, unable longer to conceal his presence. But Elison 
did not seem to mind it. 

‘‘Wait!^^ she muttered, rubbing her forehead feebly. 
^^Wait! I remember it all — but ye put me out! Yes — the 
corpses. When the time had come, I took them myself 
from a far away cemetery church-yard — I knew where they 
were and how 'to get them, for we who have learned the 
secrets of the East have ways and means you do not wot of 
— and I dressed them in the babes^ clothes, and I laid them 
in the water where they would be sure to be found — and 
you, Mr. Eskett, thought you were saying the funeral pray- 
ers over Lord Glenhampton’s daughters, w'hen they were 
only Madge Holson’s poor little twins that died of scarlet 
fever two weeks before, and was put under ground at the 
parish charges. 

what became of Jason Garfield?^’ 


198 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


don^t know/^ said Elison, her voice growing faint and 
dreamy. used to send to me for money every year — 

he was good to the little ones^ I know, for he was a kind- 
hearted creature, though weak — but of late years I heard no 
more of him. He"s dead, I suppose. Well, well, we must 
all die, and Fve lived out more of the years of man or 
woman, already! And now. Lord Adelbert, you know it 
all! My lady cannot harm a dead woman, or her vengeance 
would follow me even to the gravel’^ she added, shuddering. 
^‘But tell her I kept her secret in life, and if Fate has un- 
done her work it is through no fault of Elison PolwheaFs. 
Close the casements, and go away — you that have disturbed 
a dying soul, for Fve naught more to do with the world!’' 

And the next morning, when Lord Glenhampton and his 
recovered child, whose identity, especially after her own 
simple recital of the wandering life and the strange end of 
the old man, Jason Garfield, whom she had called ^‘grand- 
father,” he could no longer doubt, were on their way toward 
Glenhampton, Hester Jones came to tell the rector that old 
Elison was dead! 


TME WIDoWED ERIDE 




CHAPTER XXVIII. 

BEKA MAKES A DISCOVEET. 

Renal Percival, all unawares of the ghostly fingers of Fate 
that were slowly but surely unraveling the mystery of her 
own life, was sitting at her window, one cheek resting on 
her hands, and her eyes fixed with an absent look on the 
distant deer which browsed contentedly on the sunny slopes 
of Glenhampton Park, when a knock sounded at her door. 
She started, as if it had been a peal of artillery, for at that 
moment her thoughts were far away from all surrounding 
objects. 

‘^Come in!^^ she said, almost dreading to see any one 
appear just at that moment. 

But it was neither Lady Blanche, full of her happy love, 
nor Georgine Cardiff, hopelessly in despair as to whether 
she should wear blue or pink that evening at dinner, that 
appeared — it was Antonia Olive. 

^‘Will you go with me to visit the unused rooms in the 
Haunted Tower this evening. Miss Percival?^' she asked. 

‘^Certainly — at any time!^' Rena answered, glad to escape 
from the melancholy society of her own thoughts for even a 
brief hour. ^‘Have you got the keys?^^ 

‘‘No, but Mrs. Wadesleigh has gone for them." 

She sat down by the open window and looked dreamily 
out upon the glowing summer landscape. 

Mrs. Wadesleigh entered the room soon after. 

“My lady is with Mr. Poynings in the blue drawing-room 
and it sounds like they was ^avin' Mgh words together, Miss 
Clive, and I darenT make bold to hask her for the keys," 
she said smoothing her apron, apologetically. 

“Nonsense! I will go myself then," said Antonia, rising 
impatiently. “I know where she keeps them, and she has 
never refused me anything yet!" 

Mrs. Wadesleigh looked after Miss Clive with mingled 
admiration and apprehension at her courage. 

“To be sure," she said, “Miss Clivers a favorite with my 
lady, but I would never dare to go against her most particu- 
lar borders, as long as I valleyed my situation!" 

“Why?’^ asked Rena, carelessly. “What difference does 
it make?" 


206 


TSB WIDOWED BRIDE 


lady^s specially particular about the tower keys/^ 
said Mrs. Wadesleigh; ^^and it ain^t for no reason^ neither, 
as I knows on, only we has all of us our ways, and my lady^'s 
dreadful set in hers, as it becomes the Countess of Glen- 
hampton to be, for 

She stopped, for Miss Clive at that moment returned with 
the keys in her hand. 

knew I should find them/^ she said, quietly. ^^Miss 
Percival, come.^’ 

^^And if T might make bold to haccompany you/^ said 
Mrs. Wadesleigh, ^fit might be good hopportunity for me 
to see as everything wasn’t ruined houtright by moth and 
mildew, for in my humble hopinion it avn^t no good shuttin^ 
up rooms away from the sunshine and fresh hair days hin 
and days hout.^^ 

^^Come if you choose, said Miss Clive, carelessly. 

They crossed the court and ascended the narrow spiral 
stone stair-way that led up to the unused room in the tower, 
directly above the* dreary chamber where Arthur Huns- 
worth^s corpse had lain years ago, and Antonia Clive fear- 
lessly turned the key in the creaking wards of the lock and 
threw open the ancient, oak-paneled door. 

A gust of confined air, like the unwholesome exhalations 
of a charnel-house, rushed out upon them. 

^‘The Lord ^av mercy on usl'^'said Mrs. Wadesleigh; ^^these 
windows do want hopening the worst way. Pm glad I came 
up with you, though my hold legs ain^t what they used to be 
as far as stairs is concerned.’^ 

Rena looked round with mingled awe and curiosity, hold- 
ing, child-like, to Miss Clivers black dress as she did so, for 
there was something weird and uncanny about the place. 
The suite of apartments consisted of one large room, with 
two smaller ones opening out of it; the floor of dark, waxed 
wood, was powdered over with fine dust, on which their foot- 
steps made a labyrinth of tiny tracks, and folds of moth- 
eaten tapestry fluttered from the walls of the larger apart- 
ment. A huge chimney-piece, its fire-place inlaid with an- 
tique china tiles, occupied nearly one end of the room, and 
the three windows opposite were closely shuttered and 
draped with curtains of some dark, heavy stuff, which hung 
in straight, funereal folds from ceiling to floor. 

As Mrs. Wadesleigh looped back these hangings, unclasped 
the shutters, and flung wide open the lattices, a stream of 


THE WIDOWED BEIDE, 


201 


sunshine flowed radiantly in, making the huge room look 
even more desolate than it did before, and Rena could see 
that the angles were filled with useless lumber, such as col- 
lects in every house — broken chairs, rolls of carpeting, pic- 
tures with their faces turned toward the wall, and heaps of 
books and papers, while broken china dragons grinned at 
her from the tall chimney-piece, and she had nearly stum- 
bled over the canopy of a broken state-chair, whose velvet- 
cushioned back lay on the floor, a forgotten thing of the 
past. 

^‘Dear me! dear meP said Mrs. Wadesleigh, ^^if these 
books ain^t well-nigh ruinationed by the rats and mice!^^ 

She lifted up one or two as she spoke, and turned over 
their benibbled leaves with a piteous air of deprecation. 

^^They are of no consequence,’-^ said Antonia, absently, 
beg your pardon. Miss Clive, for contradictin^ of you, 
but books is books, said the housekeeper, dogmatically; 
^^and I never could abare to see ^em go to destruction. And 
the moth is in the tapestry too. as I live, and a big ^old heaten 
out of the side of King Belshazzar^s nose. Dear me! dear 
me!” 

Mrs. Wadesleigh lifted the folds and shook them out with 
a reverent hand, while Rena stooped to examine a carved 
work-box or cabinet, on antiquely fashioned feet, which had 
been concealed by a heavy fringe of ^^King Belshazzar’s 
Feast,^^ — the evident subject of the piece of tapestry, as 
Mrs. Wadesleigh knew by tradition, and Rena by conjec- 
ture. 

^^What curious old Japanese toy is this?^^ she asked, mov- 
ing it forward. ^^It is like a yellow bone, all carved with 
black carvings like lace work!” 

Mrs. Wadesleigh dropped King Belshazzar thereby filling 
the air with fine ashes — like dust. 

‘‘Yellow boneP she cried, superciliously. ^‘Why, iFs the 
finest of hivory, as King Solomon^s ships used to bring 
over, with hasses and peacocks — and where iFs been all 
these years, I, for one, can^t pretend to say. Why, Miss 
Percival, that work-box belonged to Lady Glenhampton 
when she was Mrs. Evelyn, twenty-two good years ago!^^ 

“May I look at it?” asked Rena. 

“TheiVs no reason why you shouldn%” said Mrs. Wade- 
slemh, and Rena lifted the lid. 

The interior was as quaint as the outside. There were 


202 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


curious little drawers, with silver knobs inside, boxes, and 
needle caskets, each fitting into its peculiar niche with an 
exactitude and economy of space only seen in articles of 
Eastern workmanship, but one deep, narrow receptacle, 
whose lid Kena lifted off, was empty. 

wonder what used to be kept here?^^ she asked, trying 
vainly to sound its depth with her slender forefinger. ^^See, 
Miss Clive, what a piece of ancestry I have found!” 

Miss Clive came from the opposite side of the room where 
she had been looking at one or two dingy old paintings, 
black with age, whose canvasses were cracked so as nearly to 
obliterate the subjects protrayed on their surface. 

‘^What is it?” she asked. '^Let me look at it!” 

Kena made way for her — but as her eye fell on the 
quaintly carved box, yellew with age, and exhaling a sin- 
gular perfume of sandal-wood and teak, she uttered a low 
cry, and clasped her hands to her forehead. 

^^You have seen it before?” asked Rena. ^^Then you can 
tell me its history — all these old things must have histories 
of their own. It belonged to Lady Glenhampton, when 
she came here a bride.” 

But Miss Clive did not seem to know what she was 
saying. 

‘ History!” she gasped, the shades of pallor, deadly and 
transparent, coming and going on her cheeks. ^^Stop — let 
me think — ^let me comprehend! Yes, it has a history— you 
are right! The darkness shall be made light — the "hidden 
things revealed!” 

^‘What do you mean. Miss Clive!” asked Rena, in sur- 
prise, while Mrs. Wadesleigh stood staring at her two com- 
panions in blank astonishment. 

^‘Miss Clive is ill!” she exclaimed. ^^Stay you with her, 
Miss Rena, while I go for a glass of water.” 

She hurried away, and Antonia turned to Rena with a 
haggard wildness. 

“My dagger!” she said, in husky accents, which seemed to 
struggle up from beneath a great weight on her chest. “My 
dagger!” 

Still Rena gazed at her, uncomprehendingly. 

“I don’t know what you mean!” 

Antonia caught the concealed weapon from her breast. 

“Look for yourself, child!” she gasped. “Could the 
Lord’s hand point out a mystery more plainly? There lies 


Tl^E Widowed bride. 


m 


its empty casket. See the ear-rings — the serpents — and the 
dragon, and the hideous human faces! I know them all by 
heart — I have studied their every line for years! Don^t you 
see that the devices tally in every respect? The dagger, 
which wrought his death, was taken from that very recep- 
tacle. Do you see how exactly it fits?^'' 

She placed the rusted instrument in the square casket, 
and replaced the lid. It was evidently the integral part of 
the East Indian work-box. 

^‘But, Miss Olive!^^ cried Rena, recovering the speech 
that had deserted her in the breathless horror of the mo- 
ment, ‘"you must surely be mistaken; the work-box belongs 
to the Countess of Glenhampton!^’ 

Antonia’s face grew dark — a livid light flashed into her 
eyes. 

‘T am not mistaken!” she said, slowly. “The work-box 
belongs to the Countess of Glenhampton, and it was the 
hand of the Countess of Glenhampton that murdered Arthur 
Hunsworth! She — she wrought the cruel, dastardly deed — 
the woman I have loved and trusted all these years! But 
that is over now, and my revenge has come at last!” 

She broke from Rena’s restraining embrace, and holding 
the dagger tightly clasped in her hand, rushed from the 
room as swiftly and as silently as a flying shadow, moaning, 
as she went: 

“Revenge! revenge! At last! at last!” 


m 


tse widowed bride, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

II5r THE BLUE DRAWIHG-KOOM. 

The journey across England, in which the Earl of Glen- 
hamptonwas accompanied by his newly recovered daughter, 
was one fraught with the deepest and tenderest interest to 
him. Aliceas recollection of her life with old Jason Gar- 
field — her description of the beautiful sister, who was even 
now beneath the shadows of her ancestral home, never once 
dreaming of the right that she possessed there — her innocent 
questions, and the joy with which her hungered nature took 
in all the fullness of a father^s love — were alike delightful 
to the solitary man, who seemed to behold in her once again 
the lineaments and expression of the woman he had loved 
so dearly and lost so long ago — Allegra, the first Countess 
of Glenhampton. 

Alice — or Allegra, as her father persisted now in calling 
her — shook her head with a happy, blushing laugh, as she 
looked up once in the course of their journey and beheld 
the earFs dark, sad eyes fixed upon her with admiring ten- 
derness. 

^‘You will not have a second look for me, papa,^^ she said, 
archly, ^%hen you have seen Rena. Rena is far, far more 
beautiful than 

^Ts she like you, Allegra?” 

^^Oh, no — no, papa! Rena is — yes, she is like you,” add- 
ed Allegra, the sudden conviction hashing into her mind, 
as she looked earnestly into her father’s face. ^^Her pro- 
file is like yours, and she has just such dark eyes as you 
have — but every one thinks Rena so beautiful! You have 
seen her, Ernest — tell papa about her.” 

Captain Evelyn, who was as yet in ignorance of the devel- 
opment concerning his mother’s plots and maneuvering 
wickedness, which had so recently transpired, pulled his 
mustache a little awkwardly, and felt himself color beneath 
the bronze of sunshine and wind which the last few weeks 
had bestowed upon brow and temple. 

^^She’s very handsome,” said Ernest; ‘^but after all I like 
this little girl the best.” 

j ^^And you are right, Ernest,” said the earl, sadly. ^^A 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


‘^05 


true-hearted woman is one of the noblest of God^s creatures 
— a false and wicked one the worst 

^^Papa/^ said Allegra, softly, her violet blue eyes fixed 
upon his face with a wistful, entreating tenderness. ^Tapa, 
do not think of that any more. It is over and past, and all 
that remains for us is to forget and forgive/^ 

Captain Evelyn, whose ideas on the subject of the discov- 
ery of his beautiful young wife's true birth were rather vague 
and confused, inasmuch as all that he had heard was that 
the lost twin daughters of the house of Glenhampton proved 
unexpectedly to be no other than Rena and Alice Percival, 
looked puzzled. 

^^Eorget what? Forgive whom?^^ he asked. 

^^You will know one day, my boy,^^ said the earl. ‘^Until 
then, let ignorance be bliss. 

And a sudden, involuntary thrill passed through his 
heart, as he thought how near his cherished children had 
been to him on the night when the deserted lodge was 
burned. One daughter nestling in luxury beneath the fres- 
coed magnificence of Glenhampton Castle, the other two 
wandering forlorn and friendless through the desolate 
country roads, and seeking shelter beneath the wayside 
hedges — what a contrast was there! And he bit his lip with 
stern determination, as he thought of the beautiful, wicked 
woman who had done it all! 

He had not even telegraphed the news of his intended ar- 
rival at Glenhampton. It was his wish to appear there with 
his newly found daughter without a word of warning which 
might have set the countess maneuvering anew. Katherine 
was there, and her identity must not be divulged until he 
himself was there to protect her, for the earl felt that his 
wife was too subtle and dangerous to be trusted even for an 
instant with the girl whom she believed that her plots had 
done to death eighteen long years ago. 

It was nearly noon when the carriage which the earl had 
engaged at the railroad station drove up to the side entrance 
of the castle. Harper was sitting, nodding in his chair in 
the hall. He started to his feet, with a smothered exclama- 
tion, as the carriage wheels crunched over the snow-white 
gravel. 

^^My lord!^^ he exclaimed, ^^we did not know — we never 
expected 

^^Hush!^' said Lord Glenhampton, lifting his finger warn- 


TEE WIDOWED DRIDE. 


m 

ingly. arrival here is a secret for the present. Let 

your lips be sealed as you value your place/^ 

^‘Certainly, my lord/^ said the footman, in great bewilder- 
ment. 

^^Ernest/^ said the earl, turning to his step-son, ^Hake Al- 
legra at once to your own suite of apartments. I believe 
they are generally kept in readiness, whether you are at 
home or abroad. She needs rest after her journey, and I 
should prefer that at present she should not meet the count- 
ess.'’^ He never called her ^^my wife^^ again, 

‘‘But, Rena — my sister, papa!^^ 

The earFs stern countenance softened into strange tender- 
ness. 

“I will see that you are not long kept apart, my daugh- 
ter, he answered, and Allegra, habitually obedient, fol- 
lowed her husband through the wide, softly carpeted corri- 
dors. Captain Evelyn pulled mercilessly at his mustache, 
as he offered his arm to Allegra — he only hoped that his 
step-father^s evident pleasure in his marriage might com- 
municate itself to the countess also — for bold though his 
nature was, he felt undeniably nervous on the subject of 
presenting his bride to Lady Glenhampton. 

The earl stood in the portico until Captain Evelyn and 
his young wife had disappeared, and then went directly to 
the blue drawing-room, where he knew his wife often spent 
her morning hours at this lovely season of the year. 

Lady Glenhampton^s scarlet cameFs hair scarf lay on the 
sofa, a token that she had recently occupied the apartment; 
but she was not there now. One person only stood in the 
middle of the room, gnawing fiercely at his nails, with a face 
such as Cain might have worn when first the instinct of 
murder entered into his soul. He looked up, with a sudden 
flash of surprise in his eyes, as the earl entered the apartment 
and stood facing him. 

“You are welcome, my Lord Glenhampton,^^ he said, ‘ad- 
vancing; and the earl, to his surprise, recognized Mr. Theo- 
dore Poynings, the family solicitor. 

“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Poynings,^’ said the earl, 
courteously, and about to pass on; “but I was looking for 
Lady Glenhampton.-’^ 

Mr. Poynings placed himself resolutely in the way. 

“My lord,^’ he said, his voice quivering strangely, “will 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


207 

you grant me a few minutes^ audience first? I have that to 
impart to you which will brook no delay/^ 

Lord Glenhampton looked at the man in surprise. Had 
he taken leave of his senses? Or upon what other grounds 
could his singular persistency be accounted for? 

^‘Perhaps at some other time — he commenced, haughtily; 
but Poyuings broke in once more: 

^^No other time will do as well,” he said, with brusque 
insolence. warn you, my lord, once for all, that you had 
better listen to my story before the whole country-side is 
ringing with it!” 

Lord Glenhampton stopped, calmly. 

^'What is it that you have to tell me, Poynings?” said he, 
quietly. 

^‘Do you remember the murder of Arthur Hunsworth, 
years ago?” 

^‘You, of all others, have no need to ask me that ques- 
tion, Mr. Poynings,” answered the earl. ^‘Whatever lesser 
events may escape my memory, I am not likely to forget 
that.” 

^^Do you wish to know who was his murderer?” 

would have given my right hand to know, at the time 
he met with his bloody death,” responded the earl, with 
emotion; would give it still.” 

ask no such price as that, Lord Glenhampton; I only 
ask your attention. Will you hear my story out, or” — with 
a very perceptible sneer — ^^are you so anxious to rejoin your 
family as to be able to spare me no time?'' 

The earl sat down on the velvet sofa. 

^^Go on, Mr. Poynings,” he said, with the cold courtesy that 
never forsook him; give you my undivided attention.” 

^‘To tell my story as it should be told,” began Mr. Poyn- 
ings, ‘‘1 must request your lordship to convey your mind 
backward, equally with mine, to the night of the twenty- 
first of September, 18 — .” 

''Will you not be seated, Mr. Poynings?” asked Lord 
Glenhampton. 

'•Thanks! I prefer to stand. The night of the twenty- 
first of September, 18 — , Mr. Hunsworth came to cur office, 
at about nine oYlock, apparently very much agitated. He 
sat down and wrote a note, which he requested me to take 
at once, with my own hands, to the Countess of Glenhamp- 
ton. I obeyed. She was standing at the window, so that, 


208 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


without attracting the attention of any one else in the apart- 
ment, I could easily hand it to her unseen, standing, as I 
did, on the marble terrace without. She read the note, and 
crumpled it up in her fingers. I asked her if there was any 
answer. ‘There is none,^ she answered. As it happens, I 
am skilled at reading faces, and I saw in hers that the billet 
contained something of no ordinary nature. 

“That there was some secret between my master and Lady 
Glen hamp ton I was quite certain, and as secrets are useful 
things to men of my profession, I determined to fathom the 
matter to its very bottom. Almost immediately on my re- 
turn Mr. Hunsworth went out, and I followed him.'^ 

“You did not tell all this on the occasion of the coroner^s 
inquest in this castle, interrupted Lord Glenhampton. 

Poynings smiled mockingly. 

“I am quite aware of it, my lord earl. It was not my 
policy at that time to impart all that I knew. As I was say- 
ing,’^ he added, after a moments pause, “I followed him 
into the dell beside the deer park. He waited there some 
time, so did I, behind the gnarled trunk of the great beach 
tree, which, if your lordship remembers, stands near the 
southern angle of the dell — but both of our vigils were re- 
warded in time. The Countess of Glenhampton, with her 
evening dress completely enveloped under a black cloak, 
whose hood also covered her head, except in one place, where 
I could see the Glenhampton diamonds fiash out in the star- 
light, came over the dewy grass, moving quick and light, 
and with her face deadly pale. I was where I could hear 
their voices distinctly; you can imagine how earnestly I lis- 
tened for every accent. Ay, I see your lordship^s lip curl. 
Eavesdropping is not the action of an honorable man, I 
grant you, but we who have not the good fortune to be born 
in purple and fine linen must work our way up the ladder 
of life as best we may. And I was rewarded for not being 
over-scrupulous by the tidings that I heard. Hunsworth told 
the countess, your wife^^ — Poynings spoke slowly, giving 
emphasis to every word separately and distinctly as it passed 
his lips — “that he had that night discovered the existence of 
the twin daughters of the house of Glenhampton, supposed 
to have been dead for more than seven years — that at that 
moment they were in the ruined lodge, passing as the grand- 
children of old Jason Garfield, who, as I understood it, 
had been liberally rewarded to put them out of the way— a 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


209 


polite phrase, as I take it/^ he added, sneeringly, ^^for mtir- 
der! And he told the countess that he regarded it as her 
bounden duty to divulge the monstrous conspiracy, of which 
he had become aware that night for the first time, to tlie 
earl. My Lady Glenhampton denied nothing — she was wise 
enough to perceive that no falsehood or double-dealing with 
facts could avail her at that moment — but she tried to drag 
him also in the foul plot. She offered him reward, bribes 
— I can scarcely remember what — to continue to conceal the 
story into which he had gained an insight through the vol- 
untary confession of the old man, a confession all of whose 
details I was not so fortunate as to hear. But Hunsworth 
was one of those fools whom the world calls ^men of honor/ 
and he refused every tempting prospect and golden bribe. 
And then she shifted her ground and begged for time. She 
would herself tell her husband all; the children should be 
restored to their rights, and the errors of the past be amply 
atoned for — only he must let her choose her own time. At 
all events, the earl should know all the next morning at far- 
thest; and to this compromise Hunsworth reluctantly con- 
sented. She thanked him with the utmest fervor for his for- 
bearance — and they parted. She turned away; he stood for 
a moment lighting his cigar under the very boughs of the 
tree behind which I crouched — and in that instant a shadow 
crept between me and the starlight — Lady Glenhampton^s 
shadow — and I saw the white, sheeny gleam of a blade in 
the air, I heard the bubbling cry of the murdered man, and 
saw him fall among the daisies and the long ferns, which 
closed above him as if to hide the corpse from sight. I 
never beheld a thing more instantaneously done; he must 
have died as he fell. And then she stooped above him and 
seemed to be searching or feeling for something, probably to 
see if life was quite extinct, for it is scarcely well to leave 
such a job as that half done. Ay, Lord Glenhampton, you 
may well groan and clasp your hands over your eyes, but I 
tell you that I looked upon this with my own eyes.'^ 

‘^But why — why gasped the wretched earl, without 

taking his hands from his eyes. 

^^Why have I kept silent all these years? Do you suppose 
I would make town talk of a secret that was worth to me a 
golden guinea for every hour of silence? No, Lord Glen- 
hampton, I was no such unfledged fool as that. ^ Your 
couutess has made it well worth my while, up to this time, 


210 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


to bury the past in secrecy and gloom. I told her what I 
had seen the morning of the inquest, but I took good care 
to be where she could not serve me as she had served my 
master. She was a brave woman, but she dared not stain 
her soul with another crime. Since then she has built up 
my fortune in every possible way, for she has been a gener- 
ous patroness, as you well know, my lord — up to this time 
— but the last boon I asked at her hands she has seen fit to 
refuse, and our compact is at an end! It is not every man 
wlio would be willing to marry the daughter of a murderess, 
yet I would have made Lady Blanche Arden my wife, and 
it is that which she has denied to me within the last 
hourT^ 

‘^And she has done well!^^ said Lord Glenhampton, rising 
to his feet, while his whole frame quivered with suppressed 
passion. ^‘Perjured witness, false servant, foul-tongued liar, 
and you dared to aspire to the hand of a noble lady like my 
daughter! Leave the house this instant or I swear I will 
fling you out of yonder window as if you were a dogT^ 

Poynings’ color changed; he shrank back, totally taken 
unawares. 

^‘My lord, you forget what I know — you forget what 
I can tell through all the length and breadth of Eng- 
land ^ 

^‘Tell what you please thundered Lord Glenhampton. 
^‘Proclaim to the world, if you choose, the foul part you 
have played — you cannot strike the iron into my soul any 
deeper than it now rankles. I, for one, will have no com- 
promises with a traitorous wretch like you! Now go; I will 
have no word more to say to you!^^ 

Poynings, keenly disappointed in the way in which Lord 
Glenhampton had taken this frightful revelation, crept out of 
the blue drawing-room, his teeth tightly clenched together, 
and his eyes literally blazing with fury. But he might 
have felt in some degree avenged, if he could have seen how 
quickly Lord Glenhampton^s forced fortitude gave way after 
he disappeared — if he could have heard the bitter groan 
with which the earl sank back upon the sofa* 


TEE WIDOWED BRIDE. 




CHAPTER XXX. 

LADY GLEi^^HAMPTOif'S COKFESSION*. 

In the corridor, a few hundred feet beyond the canopied 
door of the blue drawing-room, Theodore Poynings met 
Lady Glenhampton, coming with her usual slow, graceful 
manner, toward him. Her face was very pale and drawn, 
like one who has passed through the crisis of a long sick- 
ness, but she smiled as she looked into his face. 

‘‘Mr. Poynings, she said, “we parted, just now, in anger, 
but perhaps we did not sufficiently consider 

“Your blandishments are all thrown away. Countess of 
Glenhampton,^^ interrupted Poynings, speaking in a voice 
that was more like the shriek of a wild animal than the tone 
of a human being. “It is too late now for you to attempt 
to come to terms — your guilty secret is betrayed! Go on 
your way, my proud countess — all the world will soon know 
the mystery of the blood-stains on your jeweled hands 1^^ 

He passed by her without another word, but he could read 
in her blanched features and paralyzed attitude the sweet 
fullness of his revenge! 

Unable to fully comprehend his words, yet secretly im- 
pressed with their terrible import. Lady Glenhampton went 
on to the blue drawing-room and opened the door, feeling 
that rest and solitude must be gained at once, or her throb- 
bing brain would burst! She must have time to think and 
plan — she must have a season alone with herself to contem- 
plate this new and frightful complication of affairs. 

As she came into the stately apartment, her eyes fixed in- 
tently on the floor, and her head drooping on her breast, 
she became vaguely conscious of another's presence in the 
room, and looked up — to meet the stern and fiery gaze of 
her husband. 

“Adelbertr^ she exclaimed, and with the instinct of sub- 
tle diplomacy that still clung to her, the tones of her voice 
grew deliciously sweet, “my dearest lord! this is a pleasure 
I had not expected.'’^ 

She came forward with a bright smile and outstretched 
arms, but he shrank back as if her radiant beauty were the 
hideous repulsiveness of a charnel-house. 


212 


THE WIDOWED BUIDE. 


^^Woman! do not touch he uttered. ^^Do not dare 
to extend to me the hand which murdered Arthur Huns- 
worth 

She sank on a chair, as suddenly as if his words had been 
a bullet speeding to her heart, and covered her face with her 
hands. 

^^Adelbert! you tooT^ she gasped, faintly. 

‘^Is it true?^^ he demanded, standing before her with un- 
bending severity, although her piteous accents might have 
melted a heart of stone. 

^‘It is true!^^ she answered, suddenly dropping her hands 
and seeming to fling aside all disguise with the boldness of 
desperation. ^‘Yes, it is true! I did the deed, but it was 
for Blanche! Do not even the wild beasts of the jungle 
flght for their young? And now — now — with her voice dry- 
ing into a groan of inexpressible anguish, ^flt is all in vain 
— the black shadow of her wretched mother^s guilt will 
darken her innocent young life. If I could perish upon the 
scaffold alone I would not care — if I alone could bear the 
guilt, and contumely, and scorn — but my child would have 
to bear it all! I did it! I planned that the children should 
— no, not be drowned — I had not reached the stage of mur- 
der, then,^^ she added, bitterly, ^^but fall into the river, in 
their childish play, when no human aid was nigh to rescue 
them. But my accomplices were too weak, or too scrupu- 
lous to carryout the details of the bold scheme I had marked 
for them. They had not even the courage and resolution 
to keep them forever in the far away land, whither they took 
them. Would I have allowed them to come back as the heir- 
esses of Glenhampton and snatch my little Blanche’s inher- 
itance from her hands? No one but Arthur Hunsworth 
knew the real history of the children in the deserted lodge, 
or was acquainted with old Jason Garfleld^s identity. I put 
him out of the way forever!’^ she said, recklessly. ^^And 
then I came back to the castle and dressed myself in the 
clothes that lay by Antonia's bedside — she was addicted to 
sleep walking at times of unusual weariness or excitement, 
you know, and I resolved that if any suspicion were awak- 
ened it should not fall upon me. I put up my own abund- 
ant hair and fastened on the flaxen wig I had worn in tab- 
leaux, only the Christmas before, and I crept, at the dead of 
night, to the deserted lodge, and looked upon the sleeping 
faces of Allegra^s children as they lay there side by side. I 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE, 


2i3 


hated them because they stood between my little one and 
the boundless wealth that would else be hers; I hated them 
because I knew you had never loved me as you loved their 
dead mother; I hated them, because after the lapse of years 
of fancied security, they had come back to imperil all my 
hopes and plans! Could any one expect me to have mercy 
upon them? Old Jason Garfield was dead! I knew from 
the ghastly hue upon his face that I had nothing further 
to fear from him, and as I went out across the threshold, I 
decreed the destiny of those children in my heart! One of 
them had wakened with a start as I glided by her — oh! had 
she but known the shadow of peril that hung over herP^ 
Lady Glenhampton paused for a moment and wiped the 
cold dew from her marble white forehead. Her husband 
stood with folded arms and compressed lips, listening to her 
frightful tale. 

waited in the shadow of the hemlocks beyond, she 
went on, ^ ‘until all was silent, and then I crept back and 
threw a lighted match among the molded tresses of hay in 
an out-building, from which I knew the flames must inevi- 
tably communicate with the lodge when they had smoth- 
ered their way through the latticed door, and then I hurried 
back to the house. I was in time, fortunately — the progress 
of the flames was slow and imperceptible at first, and at one 
period I stood on the terrace half resolved to go back and 
complete the work which seemed frustrated for the moment. 
Yes, it was my hand which burned that wretched hovel to 
the ground/^ she added, slowly, with her eyes fixed upon 
space, while a shiver thrilled through her whole frame. 
^^Oh, those sleeping faces. I have seen them every day and 
every hour since — in my dreams at night, rising up before 
me like phantom guests, when the gayest scenes surrounded 
me. I have never once regretted the blow I struck the 
hypocrite, Hunsworth, except for poor Antonia Clive's 
sake, but I would to Heaven the weight of those children's 
blood could be lifted oif my soul!^^ 

^^And it is lifted off,’' said Lord Glenhampton, speaking 
the words by an evident effort. ^^Look, there, Edith!” 

He drew back the azure satin folds of the curtain as he 
spoke and pointed to the terrace beneath where Ernest Eve- 
lyn sat, indolently inhaling the blue incense of his insepara- 
ble companion, a cigar, while his young wife stood leaning 
over his chair, her eyes fixed dreamily on the upper windows 


214 


raJSf WIDO^MD BRWE 


of the house, as if she were wondering which of these 
stately rooms enshrined the jewel of her admiring love, her 
sister Rena. 

^^It is Ernestr^ exclaimed Lady Glenhampton. ^‘When 
did he come home?^^ 

^‘With me, this morning. 

^‘And does he know?^^ she faltered. 

‘^He knows nothing as yet,^^ answered the earl. 

The countess drew a long respiration of relief. The 
whole world would be ringing with her wicked deeds ere 
long, yet she was thankful that Ernest Evelyn was still in 
ignorance of his mother^s crimes. 

For a little while she might yet breathe freely — yes, for a 
little while. 

‘‘Do you see the young girl standing beside him?^^ pur- 
sued Lord Glenhampton, his eyes riveted sternly on the 
countess’ face. 

‘Ts it his wife?” she asked slowly; “the Alice Percival 
whom he has married in defiance of all my hopes and 
wishes?” 

“The world calls her Alice Percival,” answered the earl; 
“but she is my daughter, and her name is Allegra Morrilla 
Arden. Her sister, whom you know as Rena Percival, is 
now in this very house.” 

The feverish scarlet went and came on Lady Glenhamp- 
ton’s cheek as she listened with wild, incredulous eyes. 

“Impossible!” she gasped, her parched throat almost re- 
fusing to syllable the word. “Do the dead rise from their 
graves?” 

“No, Edith Glenhampton, but Heaven’s own hand warded 
off the sword of evil from the innocent babies who had no 
friend but Him!” her husband answered, solemnly. “The 
awful doom your hand would have meted out to them was 
averted by One more mighty than you. They escaped from 
the lodge, terrified at discovering that the old man, whom 
they supposed to be their grandfather, was dead, and wan- 
dered away in the darkness from the impending shadow of 
a fate too terrible to contemplate. So far as my children 
are concerned your soul is bloodless save in the fiend-like 
intent.” 

She clasped her hands wildly together, heedless of how 
the golden bands and many facets of the precious stones 
she wore cut into her fiesh 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE 


215 


“Thank Heaven for that^^ she cried. ^^Oh, thank 
Heaven for thatT^ 

Woman hissed a voice, close to her ear, ^^how dare 
you invoke the sacred name of Heaven 

The conntess turned with a low, startled cry, and beheld 
Antonia Clive in her black garments and ghastly white face, 
standing close to her, while Kena Percival, vainly strove to 
hold her back with hands whose frail strength was to the 
half insane vehemency of the older woman as a tiny bark 
endeavoring to stem the rush of Niagara’s fiercest tor- 
rent. 

“You killed him, Edith Glenhampton !” she gasped. “You 
murdered the man who was to be my husband — to whom 
my troth and heart were alike plighted! Why did you do 
the bloody deed?” 

Lady Glenhampton lifted her sullen, defiant eyes to An- 
tonia’s piercing gaze; she knew now that there was no fur- 
tlier avail in any semblance of deceit. 

“Because I hated him I” she answered, with slow, deliber- 
ate accents. 

“I think Miss Clive’s mind is disordered,” said Rena, her 
own face white as death. “Will you help me to take 
her away? She mav do some frightful deed of violence, 
else !” 

Lord Glenhampton stepped forward, but before he had 
time to interpose Antonia sprang upon the countess with a 
motion like the bound of a tigress. 

“Fiend! murderess!” she uttered, in a choked voice, “but 
he shall be avenged. I have sworn it, and the hour and the 
day have come!” 

Rena uttered a piercing shriek, which was echoed in Lord 
Glenharnpton’s deeper tones, for, before mortal aid could 
avail to reach the wretched woman the dagger Antonia 
Clive had carried in readiness all these years was sheathed 
in the countess’ heart. 

And with uplifted hands Antonia stood there, her face as 
radiant as if she had offered some acceptable sacrifice to the 
Judge of all men. 

“My lost one! my murdered love!” she murmured, softly 
“I vowed it, and it is done! You are avenged at last, and 
it is my hand that has filled the cup of expiation! The 
long years— the many years — but I have not lived through 
them in vain!” 


216 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


And as Antonia Clive looked u j) to the earhs shocked face, 
he saw the light of hopeless insanity shining in her eyes. 


CHAPTER XXXL 

REKA PERCIVAL^S EATE. 

The mystery at Glenhampton Castle was no longer a mys- 
tery, and for a few months the painful notoriety of the ter- 
rible events which had transpired there, both in the past 
and present, rendered the temporary absence of the family 
an imperative necessity. Miss Clive had, in the meantime, 
been placed in a private lunatic asylum. 

And while the castle was shrouded in closed blinds, the 
twice- widowed Earl of Glenhampton, with his three beauti- 
ful daughters, was dwelling in one of the lovely sheltered 
vales that edge the Lake of Geneva in Switzerland, trying 
to forget all but the peaceful present. 

Lady Blanche Arden had perhaps suffered more than any 
of the rest of the family in the horrible events which had 
so recently transpired. She had loved and trusted in her 
mother so fully that it was like rending away a portion of 
her own being, to be compelled to lose that faith. The 
love she could not lose — her real nature was like that of the 
heroine of the old ballad who sings so mournfully : 

“I know not, I care not, if guilt’s in that heart, 

I but know that I love thee whatever thou art!” 

And so she mourned and worshiped her mother^s memory, 
even while she knew that the memory was overshadowed by 
the thick darkness of an awful crime! 

But youth is essentially elastic and Heaven has mercifully 
decreed that the heaviest shall not always have power to 
overshadow our souls. Moreover there were other influences 
which tended to soften the poignancy of Blanche's sufferings. 


THE WIDOWED DhiDE. 


217 


^^Vere will not care for me now/^ she had told herself, in 
an agony of tears when first the terrible truth burst upon 
her. must write to him at once and tell him that I shall 
not expect him to be bound by the engagement formed 
under such different circumstances.^^ 

^‘If he is the noble gentleman I have heretofore believed 
him to he/" returned Eena — somehow the name of ‘‘Lady 
Katherine^^ did not suit her half so well as the pretty dimin- 
utive by which they still continued to call her — ^^these sad 
occurrences will make no difference to his loyalty to you, 
Blanche, darling. 

^^Do you really think so?^^ asked the girl, lifting her 
swollen eyes to the lovely face of her comforter. ^^Oh, 
Eena, what should I do without you to uphold my fainting 
heart? I have leaned unconsciously on you always, never 
dreaming it was a sister^s love that was so precious to me. 
But at least I ought to give Vere Temple the alternative of 
withdrawing from our engagement if it seem proper to 
him.'^ 

^‘Yes,^^ answered Eena, should do that; but I do not 
think you need have any fears for the result, Blanche. 

And the sequel proved Eena to have been in the right. 
Lord Vere Templets answer was too bulky to be put in the 
post — in fact, it came in an open barouche, and consisted of 
himself, very indignant at the idea that Blanche could ever 
dream of dissolving their troth. 

^‘And if I liadnT been in the south of France, hunting 
up a villa for our honey-moon in a secluded vale where 
tourists are unknown and couriers can be left behind, I 
should have been here long ago,^^ he said, in an injured 
voice. ^^Blanche, Blanche! do you think I would willingly 
give up the wearing of such a white pearl as you are upon 
my heart 

^^But things are so different now, Vere,^' faltered the pale 
little bride-elect. 

^^Not to me, darling, the young man answered, en- 
thusiastically. shall have to wait a little longer, that 

is all. Now tell me the whole story. So far I have heard 
only disjointed rumors and exaggerated reports. 

And in her lover^s hearty sympathy and generous 
partisanship, Lady Blanche Arden began to. believe . that the 
world might yet be bright to her when this blackness of 
darkness had vanished away into the past. 


mE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


21d 

As for the task of Lady Allegra Evelyn — that of softening 
to her young husband the blow of his mother^s disgrace and 
death — it was not so difficult as at the first outset it might 
have appeared. Captain Evelyn was very much downcast 
at first, but his nature fortunately did not possess the depth 
of his sister^s, and after the first suddenness of the tragedy 
had worn itself away, he soon reconciled himself to the in- 
evitable. 

Captain Ernest had chosen well when he made a stolen 
marriage of it with the Eeverend Ralph EsketVs pretty gov- 
erness, and he never for an instant regretted that Rena Per- 
cival had refused him so unceremoniously. 

Blanche and Allegra, as it thus happened, each had sep- 
arate loves and interests of their own, and Rena was appar- 
ently alone. 

shall never marry, papa,^^ said she, sitting, one after- 
noon, on one of the fiat, level terraces that overhung the lake. 
“I am going to stay with you always, and be your com- 
panion and comforter.^^ 

^‘You will be that, whether you marry or remain single, 
the earl answered, drawing her tenderly to his*side. ^‘Doyou 
know, my little Katherine, that you are very young to regis- 
ter a vow of eternal celibacy 

^^But I am in erneast for all that, papa,^^ she persisted. 

^^You think you are, Rena.^' 

She shook back her shining dark curls, and looked 
smilingly into his face. 

^‘You will see, papa/^ she answered, gayly. ^‘Somehow I 
feel myself gifted with the spirit of prophecy and foresight 
this evening. I can see all my future life sketched out be- 
fore me like one of the maps in ErnesPs guide-books.^^ 

The earl looked at her with a proud, amused smile. 

^'Tell me what it is that you see,^' he said, humoring her 
fancy. 

see you and myself all alone at Glenhampton Castle — 
for Vere and Ernest will take my sisters away to independ- 
ent homes of their own in time — walking all alone on the 
terraces in the summer evenings, sitting all alone by the 
fire in the great drawing-room on winter nights. We shall 
be very happy, papa, because we love one another so much, 
but it will be a serene, quiet sort of happiness, like the sun- 
shine of a September day. Oh, papa, I have the love of so 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


219 


many lonely years garnered up for you in my heart T ehe 
cried, passionately. 

He touched his lips caressingly to her forehead. 

^^But,’* he added, chancing to turn his head, ‘^who is 
that coming up the path from the steamboat-landing?^^ 

Kena leaned forward to look, and as she looked, a crim- 
son shadow crept over her cheek. 

^^It is the Marquis of Balfour,^^ she said, almost beneath 
her breath. 

^‘The Duke of St. Burgoyne^s son? Yes,^’ said Lord 
Glenhampton, remember him as a very fine man. But 
how has he managed to find us out here?^^ 

Lord Balfour was warmly greeted by the whole party, 
who gathered around to welcome him, and to hear the 
latest news from England. 

^^But I did not come from England,^^ said Lord Balfour. 

chanced to be somewhere in the neighborhood of the 
sources of the Nile, with a party of friends, when I received 
a letter from my mother telling me of the extraordinary 
good fortune which had happened to the Earl of Glenhamp- 
ton — the unexpected discovery of his long lost daughters. 
Of course I came at once to offer my congratulations.^^ 

Kena sat leaning her forehead on her hand, and marking 
tiny circles around the roots of the daisies with the point of 
her parasol. She did not look up, but her heart beat 
tumultuously within her bosom at his words, ^^to offer his 
congratulations.^^ Was that all he had come for? 

For she felt now the value and magnitude of the treasure 
she had allowed to slip from her hands. Lady Katherine 
Arden would perhaps be a more fitting bride for the Mar- 
quis of Balfour than the nameless and obscure Rena 
Percival. 

But it was not until after dinner that he found an oppor- 
tunity to speak to her alone. 

Lord Glenhampton unwilling to brave at his years the 
chill of the night air sweeping over the lake had gone to 
his book. Lord Yere, who had persuaded Blanche that 
nightingales haunted an upper ledge of a sloping hill-side 
had lured her up the heighths to listen for their music, and 
Ernest Evelyn and his wife had turned toward Villeneuve 
to see if any letters awaited them there; and so it happened 
that Lady Katherine and the Marquis of Balfour were alone 
on the terrace, where the former had sketched out the pro- 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


220 

gramme of her own future life that afternoon. How 
changed all seemed now! 

^‘Kena/-" he said, speaking in a low, earnest voice, ^^do 
you know what has brought me to the Lake of Geneva 

^^You said you had come to congratulate papal” she 
answered, almost inaudibly. 

^‘But 1 might easily have done that by letter, instead of 
coming all the way from the Kiver Nile here!” 

She was silent; in truth and in fact, our ready Kena for 
once did not know what to say! 

^‘1 have brought you a letter from my mother, Eena,” he 
said, after a moment’s pause, ^^a letter which expresses in 
her own words her love and esteem for you, and her entire 

appreciation of your noble character. But ” and he 

smilingly withheld it from her outstretched hand, ^^you 
must not read it until you have first answered a question, 
which I have to ask you!” 

^^What is it?” 

see from your face that you guess it,” he said. ^^Dear 
Eena, you know it already. You sent me away from you 
once before, but I am ready to serve for your love as many 
years as Jacob served for Eachel, Once more, my dearest, 
will you become my wife?” 

And this time, Eena^s answer was not ^^No!” 

The Marquis of Balfour had a long interview with Lord 
Glenhampton that evening, and when it was over and the 
young man was once more en route for Villeneuve, the earl 
called Eena to him. 

^^Well, my darling,” he said to her, imprisoning in his 
own the little hand that would tremble like a frightened 
bird in his tender clasp, ^^what is it about the map of your 
life to-night?” 

Her eyes fell. 

^Tapa — if you disapprove 

^^But I do not disapprove,” he interrupted. ^^On the 
contrary I think Lord Balfour one of the finest fellows I 
ever had the good fortune to know, and I am quite certain, 
my dark-eyed princess, that you will fill the position of 
future Duchess of St. Burgoyne, right royally. Nor do I 
think, Rena, that you will love your father one iota the less, 
because your heart goes naturally out to a husband^s nearer 
claim!” 

And thus bravely he gave up again the treasure he had 


THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 


221 


but newly gained, and Rena never knew how much the 
struggle cost him! 

Here ends our story. 

From poverty to wealth, from beggary to rank — from a 
schoolgirls coquettish wiles to the fullness of such a love 
as might ennoble a queen — from a coarse garment of a 
charity refuge to the glittering coronet of a peeress — these 
were the contrasts and changes of Rena Percivars life. And 
now when the beautiful Marchioness of Balfour looks back 
upon the troubled current of her past existence it seems to 
her like the winding mazes of a dream! But do we not all 
know that truth is stranger than fiction? 

[the ehd.] 

PROUD DISHONOR,^^ by Gekie Holtzmeyer 
(Mrs. Sydney Rosenfeld), will be published in the next 
number (76) of The Select Series. 


DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD* 


STREET Si SMITH’S SELECT SERIES No. 28. 


^rice* 25 Cents, 


Some Ooinions of the Press* 

•*Aflthe probabilities are remote of the play ‘The Old Domestead’ belne 
■een anywhere but in large cities It Is only fair that the story of the piece should 
be printed. Like most stories written from plays It contains a great deal which 
Is not said or done on the boards, yet It Is no more verbose than such a story 
should be, and it gives some good pictures of the scenes and people who for a 
year or more have been delighting thousands nightly. Uncle Josh, Aunt Tlldy, 
Old Cy Prime, Reuben, the mythical Bill Jones, the sheriff and all the other char- 
acters are here, beside some new ones. It is to be hoped that the book will make 
a large sale, not only on its merits, but that other play owners may feel encour- 
aged to let their works be read by the many thousands who cannot hope to see 
them on the stage.”— F. Heraia, June 2d. 

** Denman Thompson’s ‘The Old Homestead’ Is a story'of clouds and sunshine 
alternating over a venerated home; of a grand old man, honest and blunt, who 
loves his honor as he loves his life, yet suffers the agony of the condemned in 
learning of the deplorable conduct of a wayward son; a story of country life, love 
and Jealousy, without an Impure thought, and with the healthy flavor of the 
fields In every chapter. It is founded on Denman Thompson s drama of ‘The 
Old Homestead.’ A. r. Press, May 26lh. 

“ Messrs. Street & Smith, publishers of the New Torlc Weekly, have brought 
out In book-form the story of ‘ The Old Homestead,’ the play which, as produced 
by Mr. Denman Thompson, has met with such wondrous success. It will proba- 
bly have a great sale, ihus Justifying the foresight of the publishers In giving the 
drama this permanent Action form.’^— i^. r. Morning Journal, June 2d. 

“The popularity or Denman Thompson’s play of - The Old Homestead’ has 
encouraged Street & Smith, evidently with his permission, to publish a good-sized 
novel with the same title, set In the same scenes and including the same charac- 
ters and more too. The book is a fair match for the play In the simple good taste 
and real ability with which it is written. The publishers are Street & Smith, and 
^ey have gotten the volume up In cheap popular form.”— A. Y, Graphic, May 29, 

“Denman Thompson’s play, ‘The Old Homestead,’ Is familiar, at least by rep< 
utatlon, to every play-goer in the country. Its truth to nature and Its simple 
pathos have been admirably preserved In this story, which Is founded upon it 
and follows its incidents closely. The requirements of the stag- make the action 
a little hurried at times, but the scenes described are brought before the mind’s 
eye with remarkable vividness, and the portrayal of life in the little New Eng- 
land town Is almost perfect. Those who have never seen the play can get an 
excellent Idea of what It is like from the book. Both are free from sentlmentalj*ir 
and sensation, and are remarkably healthy In tone.”— AZbawj/ Express, 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘Old Homestead’ has been put Into story-iorm ana \s Is- 
sued by Street & Smith. The story will somewhat explain to those who have not 
seen it the great popularity of the play,''— Brooklyn Times, June 8th. 

r'’ “The fame of Denman Thompson’s play, ‘Old Homestead,’ Is world-wide. 
Tens of thousands have enjoyed It, and frequently recall the pure, lively pleasure 
they took In Its representation. This Is the story told In narrative form as well 
as It was told on the stage, and will be a treat to all, whether they ha^e seen the 
play or not.”— National Tribune, Washington, D. C. 

“Here we have the shaded lanes, the dusty roads, the hilly pastures, the 
peaked roofs, the school-house, and the familiar faces of dear old Swanzey, and 
the story which, dramatized, has packed the largest theater In New York, and 
has been a success everywhere because of Its true and sympathetic touches of 
nature. All the Incidents which have held audiences spell- bound are here re- 
corded— the accusation of robbery directed against the Innocent boy, his shame, 
and leaving home ; the dear old Aunt Tilda, who has been courted for thirty 
pars by the mendacious Cy Prime, who has never had the courage to proposes 
the fall of the country boy Into the temptations of city life, and his recovery by 
the good old man who braves the metropolis to And him. The story embodies aft 
^t the play teUs, md ^ that it suggests as yroXUSianscta CUv Jounmk 
iWrDTths 


BERTHA M. CLATS 

Copyright Novels, 

IN 

The Select Series. 


Px*loe, as Oexxts DESetolx. 


FULLY ILLUSTEATED. 


tTo. 22.-A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 

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No. 36.-THE G-IPSY’S DAUG-HTER. 
No. 37.-IN LOVES CRUCIBLE. 

No. 39.-MARJORIE DEANE. 

TLese novels are among tLe best ever writ- 
ten by BEETHA M, CLAY, and are enjoying 
an enormons sale. TLey are copyrighted and 
can be had only in THE SELECT SEEIES. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
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r. O. B«z S784. - 41 Bom Street^ K«w Toik. 


Mrs. Georsie Sheldon's 

Copyright Novels, 

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No. 16-SIBYL’S INFLUENCE. 

No. 24-THAT DOWDY. 

No. 43-TRIXY. 

No. 44-A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

These novels, from the pen of our gifted an 
thor, who writes exclusively for us, are among 
her most popular productions, and hold the front 
rank in first-class literature. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
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THE SELECT SERIES 

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No. 39— MARJORIE DEANE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

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By ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE, 

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7)octob Jack. — A novel, by St. George Kathborne, is an intensely 
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Her Kotal Lover. — This is an admirable translation of a fascinating 
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wives who aim to attract admiration, and to husbands who are so 
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Fo artfully woven that the persistent secret wooer is on the eve of being 
rewarded for his duplicity ; and the maddened husband is about to be 
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dramatically narrated, many strong situations, and never lags in 
action. — Chronicle, 


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POPULIR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT NOVELS, 

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pjo. -at. 



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THE WEAVEE’S WAB. 


Bv PROFESSOR WM. HENRY PECK, 

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rights against the nobility. The hero, whom fate has made an humble 
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most of the action is thrilling and drnmatic, a captivating love episode is 
adroitly interwoven with the main thread of the romance. The mystes^ 
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BEN HAMED; 

OI^ 

THE OHILDEEN OF FATE. 


By SITLVANUS COBB, Jr. 



Fx'ice, as Oezxts. 


WHAT THE PRESS SAT OF IT. 

*^exi Hamed” Is an Oriental romance by Sylvanus Cobb, which recalls 
flie delightful stories of the “Arabian Nights,” without their supernatural 
effects. Indeed, our old friend Harouu A1 Easchid figures prominently in 
this work, and is closely identified with the hero and heroine— the devoted 
Assad and the fair Morgiana. It is a romance of pure love, with an in- 
genious and cleverly sustained plot.— Grand Rapids Democraly Aug. 3, 

“Ben Hamed” is the title of an Oriental romance not unlike the stories of 
the “Arabian Nights.” It is a romance of pure love. A number of strong 
characters combine with the hero and heroine in the solution of an ingenious 
plot.— Harris&nrflr Patrioty July 23. 

Street & Smith of New York have published “Ben Hamed ; or, The Chil- 
dren of Fate,” by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., which is No. 8 of the Sea and Shore 
Series. This book is an Oriental romance, which recalls the “Arabian 
Nights,” without their supernatural efl'ects. The plot is ingenious and well 
sustained, and brings out a romance of pure love in a charming manner.— 
^San Francisco Morning Call, July 21. 

“Ben Hamed” is an Oriental romance by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., published In 
paper by Street & Smith, New York city. It is clever in the way that all of 
Cobb’s stories are ‘Indianapolis News, July 20. 

“Ben Hamed is a capital story, progressive in action, interesting from 
the opening line, and with a charming love romance, on which are strung 
many remarkable incidents. — Acton Star, July 21. 

A capital story of Eastern life, which must have been suggested by a 
perusal of the “Arabian Nights,” is Sylvanus Cobb’s Oriental narrative of 
^en Hamed ; or. The Children of Fate.” It is admirably told, full vof in- 
terest, and cannot fail to charm all who begin its perusaL — 

0un, Sept. 22. 

Street & Smith, of the New York Weekly, have published “Ben 
Hamed; or, The Children of Fate,’* by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. This is an 
Oriental romance, accentuated by a very strong and ingenious plot. — St, 
PatU Pioneer Press, July 21, 

Street & Smith, New York, publish in paper covers “Ben Hamed,” an 
Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, which recalls the delightful stories of 
tile “Arabian Nights,”* without their supernatural effects.” — Cincinnati 
JSnqairer, 

“Ben Hamed,” an Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, is published by 
Street & Smith, New York. It is one of Cobb’s characteristic romances, 
Haroun A1 Easchid being a prominent figure. There is nothing strained of 
unnatural in “Ben Hamed,” it recalling the stories of the “Arabian Night*,** 
Without their supernatural eSiQQtd,^Minmapoli8 Xr^une, July 21 


S^a apd Sljore Seri(^5 


Stories of Strange Adventure Ashore and Afloat. 


No. 26-EED DICK, THE TIGER OF CALIFORNIA, by Ned 
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No. 25-DASHING CHARLIE, by Ned BuntUne. 

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No. 22-THE STRUGGLE FOR MAVERICK, by J. F. Fitts. 
No. 21-ROCKY MOUNTAIN SAM, by Burke Brentford. 

No, 20-THE HOUSE OF SILENCE, by Dr. J. H. Robinson. 

No. 19-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO’S TRAIL, by Alex. Robert- 
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No. 18-THE YANKEE CHAMPION, by Sylranus Cobb., Jr. 

No. 17— FEDORA, from the famous play of the same name, by 
Victorien Sardou. 

No. 16-SIBALLA, THE SORCERESS, by Prof. Wm. H. Peck. 
No. 15-THE GOLDEN EAGLE, by Sylranus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 14-THE FORTUNE-TELLER OF NEW ORLEANS, by Prof. 
Wm. H. Peck. 

No. 18-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO ABROAD, by Alex. Rob- 
ertson, M.D. 

No. 12-HELD FOR RANSOM, by Lieut. Murray. 

No. 11-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO’S SEARCH, by Alex. 
Robertson, M. D. 

No. 10— LA TOSCA, from the celebrated play, by Victorien 
Sardou. 

No. 9-THE MAN IN BLUE, by Mary A. Denison. 

No. 8-BEN HAMED, by Sylranus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 7-CONFESSIONS OF LINSKA. 

No. 6-THE MASKED LADY, by Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 5— THEODORA, from the celebrated play, by Victorien 
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No. 4— THE LOCKSMITH OF LYONS, by Prof. Wm. H. Peck. 
No. 3-THE BROWN PRINCESS, by Mrs. M. V. Victor. 

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Issued Every Thursday. Price, 10 Cents Each. 


Ho. 63-COONSKIlV, THE SCOUT, by Duhe Cuyler. 

Ho. 62-BAZZLE-DAZZLE DICK, by Donald J. McKenzie. 

No. 61— JENNIE, THE TELEGRAPH OPERATOR by R. M. TayloTo 
No. 60— FRANK AND JESSE JAMES IN MEXICO, by W. B. Lawsott 
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No. 36-HIS HIGHEST STAKE, by Edwin S. Deane. 

No. 36-BOB SINGLETON, by David Lowry. 

No. 34— KENTUCKY KATE, by Marline Manly. 

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No. 31-THE HUMAN VAMPIRE, by K. F. HiiL 

No. 30-SHAD0WED AND TRAPPED ; or, Harry the Sport, by Ned Buntline. 
No. 29-THE LIGHTS O’ GOTHAM, by Ralph Royal 
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No. 27-JACK, THE PEEPER, by Harry Temple. 

No. 26 -HUGO, THE FIGHTER, by William H. BushneU. 

No. 26-DARROW, THE FLOATING DETECTIVE, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 24-THE SHANGHAIER OF GREENWICH STREET, by Henry Deerlng. 

No. 23-PHENOMENAL PAUL, THE WIZARD PITCHER OF THE LEAGUE, b| 
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No. 22-OLD MAN HOWE, by Wra. O. Stoddard. 

No. 21— CATTLE KATE, by Lieutenant Carlton. 

No. 20-GUISEPPE. THE WEASEL, by Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 19-LOUISVILLE LUKE, THE JOCKEY WONDER, by Jack Howard. 

No. 18-THE OYSTER PIRATES, by Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 17— SILVER MASK, by Delta Calaveras. 

No. 16— THE JOHNSTOWN HERO, by Marline Manly. 

No. 16— THE GREAT CRONIN MYSTERY, by Mark Merrick, Esq. 

No. 14-DIAMOND DICK IN ARIZONA, by Delta Calaveras. 

No. 13-HARRY LOVELL, THE GENTLEMAN RIDER, by Sherwood Stanley. 
No. 12-THE MINER DETECTIVE, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 11— THE OKLAHOMA DETECTIVE, by Old Broadbrim. 

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No. 9-THE IRISH JUDAS; or. The Great Conspiracy Against PameU, by 
Clarence Clancool. 

No. 8-BILL TREDEGAR, A Tale of the Moonshiners, by Ned Buntline, 

No. 7— THE PINERY DEN DETECTIVE, by Mark Merrick, Esq. 

No. 6— CAPTAIN KATE, by Leander P. Richardson. 

No. 6-THE WHITE CAP DETECTIVE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 4-JESSE, THE OUTLAW, A Story of the James Boys, by Captain JUm 
S hackleford. 

No. 3-SEVEN PICKED MEN, by Judson R. Taylor 

No. 2— THE KEWANEE BAxNK BOBBERY, by J. R, Musick. 

No. 1-THE WHITE CAPS, by Marline Manly 


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ISSUED EVERY THURSDAY. PRICE, 5 CENTS EACH. 


Ko. 80-McGINTT’S DOUBLE, by Cornelius Shea. 

No. 29-SMART ALECK MVAY DOWN EAST, by Frank. 

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No. 27— McGINTY’S BOARDING-HOUSE, by Cornelius She& 

No. 29-HIS ROYAL NIBS, by John F. Cowan. 

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No. 23-McGINTFS TWINS, by Cornelius Shea. 

No. 22- PHIL AND HIS TORPEDO BOAT, by Harry St George. 

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No. 20-THE MYSTERY AT RAHWAY, by Chester F. Baird. 

No. 19-STANLEY’S BOY COURIER, by The Old Showman. 

No. 18-DIAMOND DICK’S CLAIM, by W. B. Lawson. 

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No. 15-SMART ALECK ON HIS TRAVELS, by Frank. 

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No. 13-THE SEARCH FOR CAPTAIN KIDD, by Col Juan Lewis. 

No. 12-MECHINET, THE FRENCH DETECTIVE, by Francis A. Durivageu 
No. 11-BOSS OP LONG HORN CAMP; or, A Fortune for a Ransom, by A. G 
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the Bowery, by Raymond Clyde. 

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No. 7-THE CRIMSON TRAIL ; or. On Custer’s Last War-Path, by Buffalo Bill. 
No. 6— THE FLOATING ACADEMY ; or. The Terrible Secrets of Doctor Switchem’s 
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A. Mack. 

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Dash Kingston. 

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No. 2— UNDER THE GULF ; or, The Strange Voyage of the Torpedo Boat, by 

Harry St. George. 

No. 1— SMART ALECK ; or, A Crank’s Legacy, by Frank. 


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THE SELECT SERIES 

OF 

POPULAR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT STORIES. 

No. 76 — A PROUD DISHONOR, by Genie Holtzmeyer 25 

No. 75— THE WIDOWED BRIDE, by Lucy RandaU Comfort 25 

No. 74-THE GRINDER PAPERS, by Mary Kyle DaUas 25 

No. 73— BORN TO COMMAND, by Hero Strong 25 

No. 72 — A MODERN MIRACLE, by James Franklin Fitts 25 

No. 71— THE SWEET SISTERS OF INCHVARRA, by Annie Ashmore 25 

No. 70— HIS OTHER WIFE, by Rose Ashleigh 25 

No. 69 — A SILVER BRAND, by Charles T. Manners 25 

No. 68— ROSLYN’S TRUST, by Lucy C. LilUe 25 

Noi' 67 — WILLFUL WINNIE, by Harriet Sherburne ... 25 

No. 66-ADAM KENT’S CHOICE, by Humphrey Elliott 25 

No. 65— LAURA BRAYTON, by JuUa Edwards 25 

No. 64— YOUNG MRS. CHARNLEIGH, by T. W. Hanshew 25 

No. 63-BORN TO BETRAY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 25 

No. 62— A STRANGE PILGRIMAGE, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 25 

No. 61— THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, by Hon. Evelyn Ashby 25 

No. 60— WON ON THE HOMESTRETCH, by Mrs. M. C. Williams 25 

No. 59— WHOSE WIFE IS SHE? by Annie Lisle 25 

No. 58 — KILDHURM’S OAK, by Julian Hawthorne 25 

No. 57— STEPPING-STONES, by Marion Harland 25 

No. 56— THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT, by Mary A. Denison 25 

No. 55— ROXY HASTINGS, by P. Hamilton Myers 25 

No. 54— THE FACE OF ROSENFEL, by C. H. Montague 25 

No. 53— THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S, by Jean Kate Ludlum 25 

No. 52— TRUE TO HERSELF, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 25 

No. 51— A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S SIN, by Hero Strong ... 25 

No. 50 — MARRIED IN MASK, by Mansfield Tracy Walworth 25 

No. 49-GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor :.. 25 

No. 48 -THE MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE, by A. M. Douglas 25 

No. 47— SADIA THE ROSEBUD, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 46— A MOMENT OF MADNESS, by Charles J. BeUamy 25 

No. 45— WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, by Charlotte M. Brame 25 

No. 44— A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, by Mrs. Georgia Sheldon .... 25 

No. 43 — TRIXY, by Mrs. Georgia Sheldon 25 

No. 42— A DEBT OF VENGEANCE, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins 25 

No. 41 -BEAUTIFUL RIENZI, by Annie Ashmore . 25 

No. 40— AT A GIRL’S MERCY, by Jean Kate Ludlum 25 

No. 39— MARJORIE DEANE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 38— BEAUTIFUL, BUT POOR, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 37— IN LO VE’S CRUCIBLE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 38— THE GIPSrS DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 35— CECILE'S MARRIAGE by Lucy Randall Comfort 25 

No. 34— THE LITTLE WIDOW, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 33— THE COUNTY FAIR, by Neil Burgess 25 

No. 32— LADY RYHOPE’S LOVER, by Emma G. Jones 26 

No. 31— MARRIED FOR GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins .25 

No. 30 -PRETTIEST OF ALL, by Julia Edwards.... ...........I. 25 

No. 29 -THE HEIRESS OF EGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis., 26 

No. 28 -A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

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“ Being authorized by Messrs. Pears to purchase at any and 
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“ My analytical and practical experience of Pears' Soap now 
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I have never come across another 
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Comes up to my ideal of perfection; 

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“ OF A NEW BOM BABE.” 

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It represents a CP^NTURY’S EXPERIENCE of the 
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